


The Orchard of Shattered Dreams

by DragonaireAbsolvare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Violence, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Cruelty, Dark Harry Potter, Death Eaters, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Former James Potter/Lily Evans, Gen, Genius Harry Potter, Good Parent Severus Snape, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, HE'S VERY BAD, Lily Evans Potter Lives, M/M, Mentor Severus Snape, Minor Character Death, No Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Past Relationship(s), Psychological Warfare, Sad, Slytherin Harry Potter, Snape has his work cut out for him, Snily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonaireAbsolvare/pseuds/DragonaireAbsolvare
Summary: Voldemort chooses to take over the Wizarding World instead of going after a stupid half-prophecy. In this new world ruled by a shadowy Dark Lord, Muggleborn Lily Evans raises her son, alone.Harry Evans grows up in the Muggle World, and goes to Hogwarts.Severus Snape has to admit that the child is less James and more Lily.Or is he?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Harry Potter & Other(s), Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 134
Kudos: 499





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will most likely contain slash. I will update the tags with each chapter.

Severus Snape scrambles into the Hogwarts Headmaster’s office. He’s trembling like a leaf and the old Headmaster takes pity on him.

“He means _them,_ Dumbledore! Her son- he’s going to get _her_ son.” Snape is a wreck, heaving gasps of anguish. When the Headmaster calms the man down enough to realize Snape has relayed the half-prophecy to Voldemort, he sends a Patronus to James Potter asking the man to prepare for going into hiding.

Satisfied, he turns to the wretched man on the ground, and with a few honeyed barbs, Snape is sufficiently broken. From there on, it is only too easy to set the young man on a path of redemption, gaining himself a loyal spy in the process.

And so, Albus Dumbledore prepares himself for the climax of the war- an attack on either the Potters or the Longbottoms.

Miles away, in the ruins of an old castle in the countryside, the Dark Lord emerges from his pensieve and weighs his options- he can either go confront the infant destined to vanquish him (who knows what mysterious powers the child has?) or he can further the war effort when his carefully placed spies are this close to taking over the Ministry of Magic.

It’s an easy choice- he sticks to his original, carefully thought-out plan; once he has the Ministry, he can listen to the full prophecy (no doubt Snape has heard only bits and pieces, what with the abrupt way the sentence terminated...) and decide his next course of action. Rookwood is in perfect position to collect whatever prophecy has been added to the Department of Mysteries- Malfoy and Crouch are confident in their clawed grip on the two biggest departments of the Ministry, and Bellatrix has been successfully training the newest recruits as a fall-back plan if the diplomatic take-over does not prove successful.

Lord Voldemort calls for Pettigrew and Fawley. They kneel at the foot of his throne, and the Dark Lord orders them to keep a scrutinizing eye on their charges and report back every single detail each month. Fawley is assigned to the Longbottom boy, and Pettigrew will watch the Potter boy.

The Wizarding world will fall under his rule very soon.

.......................................

And so, it does. The Ministry takeover is slow and hidden under layers of normalcy. Key players are taken out with the barest hints of compulsions- a retirement here and there, an accident in the Department of Mysteries that puts the Head Unspeakable out of commission, the Head Auror is killed in battle: noticeable, but spaced out evenly to avoid suspicion. And then, if there are a few bright minds in the Auror division who begins to sniff around- they are easily dealt with.

It takes three years, but Voldemort has succeeded in replacing key opposition in the Ministry, the newly- _elected_ Minister of Magic is Cornelius Fudge, an incompetent nobody who succumbs easily to Malfoy’s Imperius. Malfoy himself would have been a good candidate Minister, but Dumbledore and his cronies suspect him to be in Voldemort’s service. And Lucius is disliked by far too many for his pure blood, wealth and power.

Just as well, the Wizengamot is firmly seduced to the Dark Side. The chief participants- those who dare to raise their voice in the large courtroom- are Marked, or sympathisers to the cause. The rest are imperiused, enough to get a majority to pass the bills that they would otherwise find undesirable. Nott and Parkinson are tasked with renewing the Imperius and slowly modifying the jurors’ memories. Soon, that process will also cease, when the Jurors have lost sufficient memories to become loyal to the Dark.

The Dark Lord smiles in his throne, savouring the taste of victory.

He faces his Inner Circle. Bellatrix sits on his left, while Lucius sits on his right. There is a hierarchy. Fawley and Macnair are relatively new faces in the assembly. The latter has served him devoutly, poisoning the Ministry from within. Fawley, while worthless, did him great service selling out the Longbottoms.

Longbottom and his wife were nuisance upstarts and blind followers of Dumbledore.

‘Were’; past tense.

Not anymore.

Voldemort grins savagely. The Longbottom residence was attacked by the three Lestranges and Rosier in mid-June two years ago. Voldemort himself led the attack, bringing down the place with Fiendfyre, and burning the Dark Mark onto the earth for Dumbledore to find. The young couple were then captured for the Lestranges to toy with, while he amusedly allowed Rosier to kill the child.

Unfortunately, the child survived- because the Order arrived with reinforcement and they had to apparate away. Dumbledore retrieved the child (who was relatively undamaged, save for a few curses from Evan) but the Longbottom couple could be towed to Voldemort’s headquarters. They were tortured to insanity (it revealed nothing new) and tossed out in Hogsmeade for the old Headmaster to find.

Fawley was rewarded for her efforts by a position in the Inner Circle, although it is a silent agreement between Voldemort and his Death Eaters that the greatest of their plans wo never be discussed in her presence.

Voldemort remembers that there is another choice for the Child of Prophesy: Harry Potter. He does not know where the boy is. Nor does he care- Dumbledore is convinced that Longbottom is the one. Voldemort is uninterested, he has secured his immortality. It will take years before that chubby babe can grow up to challenge him. But for now, he will keep an eye on the boy.

......................................

It’s the summer of 1991, and Harry Evans brushes the dirt off his clothes. He hates Cokeworth, with its smothering air and filthy streets, and equally dirty Muggle children.

He glares back at the boy who has just pushed him. It does not take much for Harry to make the child scream, curling up inwards and clawing at his eyes.

Harry can read minds. The boy’s is mundane, but Harry delves deeper, tearing at defences and unearthing painful memories. A snake in the woods pops out... the rotting flesh of a rat in the basement... getting backhanded by his drunk father... being chased by a pack of dogs...

“Stop it!” The boy begs. Harry bares his teeth vindictively, and pulls out of the boy’s mind. There’s a pocket-knife in the boy’s trousers, and Harry decides he likes it.

He leaves the boy sobbing and returns home.

Lily Potter sighs at the state her son is in. She hates it when he gets into fights. His knees are scraped, and she washes them before wrapping a clean piece of cloth around them. Harry smiles at his mother wryly and takes out his schoolbooks to do some summer assignments. She darns the holes on his trousers, and patches the blanket. It’s usually stiflingly hot in Cokeworth, but it can get very cold when it rains at night. They sit in silence for hours, until it’s time for dinner.

The Evans aren’t well-off. The house is long due for repair, and anything more than bread and the few vegetables in their backyard is a luxury. Lily can’t always find work- she’s never graduated school.

Muggle school, that is.

Lily is a brilliant witch, and she could have easily completed her Charms Mastery. Harry knows this. He knows there’s a world beyond the dull roads of Cokeworth, a world of Magic that he and his Mum belonged in.

When Lily’s back is turned, Harry grimaces at the pots and pans accumulating in the sink.

Scourgify could have cleaned them.

But Lily insists on washing them with hands. Insists on not doing magic unless it’s absolutely necessary. She keeps her magic books and reads them whenever there’s no work, and multiplies the food when they’re about to go hungry. Casts an Impervious charm on the leaking roof, but sends Harry up to manually fix the tiles.

She’s resentful. Harry knows this.

Divorce is a terrible scandal in the Wizarding World. You either live with your spouse forever, or you murder them. To make things worse, his mother’s a Muggleborn who married above her status, into a long line of wealthy purebloods.

........................................

Lily Evans regrets many of her choices.

Lily married James right out of school. Things were wonderful for a while, before the war began to take a toll on them. She tried her best to be a proper pureblood wife, respectful of their traditions even if she didn’t agree with all of them, and James didn’t mind- he was practically a rebel.

Mr and Mrs Potter weren’t very fond of her, though, and neither was Wizarding society, who mocked her from afar. And there were fights- when she and James did not agree on something. They were both fierce and unrelenting. They would both say cruel things to each other, and go off to cool their tempers at the nearest pub.

And then, Harry was born, just before the clock struck midnight to the First of August. Dumbledore told them of a prophecy, and the Potters went into hiding. In the following months, Lily broiled in unease, wondering how she would tell James that Harry wasn’t his.

The next Potter child comes into the world while his parents are still in hiding.

News about the Death Eater attack on the Longbottoms spread like wildfire. Members of the resistance begin to make contingency plans for their families. Lily finds Fleamont helping James draw up a will to split the inheritance between Harry and the newly-named Edwin.

She makes up her mind, and tells him.

James is betrayed. He cannot believe that Lily would cheat on him. She replies that she had not intended to. Fleamont Potter is enraged and disgusted, and calls her a Mudblood whore. It strikes her much more than the numerous times that insult has been used in school. Perhaps, it is because Fleamont has never hurled insults at people for their blood status. James is stricken, but he is not apologetic.

Lily packs her bags that night, and leaves with Harry. She apparates to her sister, and is coldly turned away. The next destination is her childhood home near Coketown. Petunia has sold it. Desperate, Lily trudges through the dirty streets until it rains, and she has to use an abandoned, broken-down house for shelter. She casts protective charms on the house, along with Muggle-Repelling charms and a magic-detecting ward.

The house becomes their home for the next ten years.

She often goes to the cemetery near Cokeworth Chapel. It’s where her parents are buried. They died in a car crash soon after Lily’s wedding, and the last time she visited their graves, she had been crying after a fight with James.

Seeing her distress, a young man came to comfort her. They left together to a pub nearby, and Lily told him about how her parents’ car had crashed onto an electric post, while swerving to avoid a drunk on the road. She told him about her fights with her husband, how his family thought low of her for her birth-status, how she was so tired- so very tired...

When she slumped dejectedly, the young man kissed her. It was drunken and fumbling, but she kissed back, just the same. They stumbled into a rented room and spent the night together.

Lily insists on staying in Coketown, if only to see Harry’s father once more. She does not remember much about him, except that he had been respectful, caring and gentle, and she could almost pretend he loved her. She does not even know his name.

She knows there are men like that, sweet with words and actions so that they may seduce any girl they come across. But somehow, Lily did not mind.

Even false respect was better than being called a ‘Mudblood whore.’

.......................................


	2. Chapter 2

The end of July looms closer, and Lily steels herself to take Harry to Diagon Alley. Her son is obviously magical. She pretends not to see Harry using magic to do his chores- he’s already adept at making the dishes wash themselves, and summoning books from the shelves. She’s proud, but also terrified.

Harry will want to go to Hogwarts.

But he has a disgraced Muggleborn mother and an unknown Muggle father. There’s no doubt that the children there will rip his dignity to shreds. She hopes that James has not made it public that Harry is not his son.

Then she berates herself for depending on her former husband. The divorce was her choice, she will have to live with it. She just hopes it will not drag Harry down with her.

When Lily glamours herself to look different, Harry shoots her a scathing look of disapproval. She has not kept her story a secret from him, hoping to arm him for whatever waits in the Wizarding World. He’s a child does not understand much- he keeps telling her to stand proud in her own skin, but Lily _can’t-_ or perhaps her darling boy has grown so much more than she thinks.

It is to this intention that Lily decides to get Harry’s supplies before the letter arrives. They apparate to London, and walk to the Leaky Cauldron.

Her eye is constantly on Harry, as he takes in the chaotic glory of Diagon Alley, the streets thrumming with magic. He is awed, and Lily holds his hand tightly as she leads him to Gringotts to exchange currency. It comes to a total of eight Galleons, six Sickles and three knuts. She has been saving up, but it is only enough to get the perishables- like potions ingredients- first hand. Harry will have to use her old instruments and books; and Lily is suddenly glad that she never threw away her school trunk and its contents.

They make their way to the wand shop. Ollivander ignores the Notice-Me-Nots and the innumerable glamours she has on, and greets her warmly- he remembers her wand, and Lily feels a little pang in her chest. The elderly wandmaker always treated people equally. Her voice is suddenly thick, and Lily merely smiles gratefully.

Harry’s wand takes a long time to find. Lily isn’t surprised to realise her son is a powerful wizard- he’s always had a natural talent with magic. She had once worried about his decreasing displays of accidental magic, before realising that he no longer needed it to be _accidental._

The wand is ‘...elder and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, unusually twitchy and temperamental.’ Ollivander regards Harry with a piercing stare, which Harry returns in kind while counting out seven Galleons.

After the wand shop, Lily takes Harry around Diagon Alley, making a quick stop in Slug and Jiggers. Old Mrs Jigger is manning the shop, the usual assistant has quit. She’s a genial, pleasant sort of woman, and tries to make idle chat with Lily while Harry studies the shelves and the standard Hogwarts potions kit. Lily realises it’s easier to pretending Muggle woman taking her son for shopping. People don’t ask as much about Muggle lifestyle as they do about things like cars and ‘eckle-trick-city.’

The money has dwindled down to a single Galleon and two sickles, which Lily decides to set aside for any schoolbooks that Lily does not have. She promises Harry to return to Diagon Alley once more after he has received his letter.

The letter does arrive, and Lily has to buy a different Defence textbook. It’s available in the second-hand book store, and there is money to spare, so she lets Harry buy some more books. Harry’s birthday is a muted affair. Lily spends the last of her knuts to buy him a blackberry caramel sundae at Fortescue’s.

The next month flies past, and Lily packs her old trunk, charming his initials onto the top. She has to remove the Gryffindor colours off her robes, charming them a plain black for Harry. She hopes that he will be in her old house, but knows that Ravenclaw is more likely. Harry has been devouring her books ever since she taught him to read.

September dawns, and Harry is ready for school. Before they leave, he sits her down, and tells her that he has already sent a letter to Mrs Jigger, who’s looking for a shop assistant. Harry will not let her scrounge for work in Coketown. Mrs Jigger will see her on the fifth, and he insists that Lily attend.

Lily is amazed, and she hugs her son tightly, smothering him with kisses. He will be terribly missed.

She waves longingly at Harry as the Hogwarts Express turns round the corner and disappears.

The next day, she receives a short missive: ‘Made Slytherin.’ A weight settles in her stomach- Lily is not fond of Slytherin, but more than that, she’s reminded of Severus, in his scrubby, second-hand clothes and underfed, asocial demeanor. Slytherin had not been kind to him.

Lily attends the meeting with Mrs Jigger.

.................................

Harry settles comfortably in an empty compartment, taking out a rolled-up sock. There are a couple of mice in it, he had caught them while cleaning the attic. He couldn’t experiment with magic when his mother was around, but the train compartment looks suitable.

The first of his spells was to change the mouse’s whiskers into needles. He had mastered changing them one-by-one, but changing them all at once is difficult. Some whiskers curl up, others burn. The mouse struggles in his hand, and Harry taps its head with a finger. “Sleep.”

And the mouse obeys.

Finally, the whiskers are all steely needles, changing forms together with a motion of his wand. The next attempt is to elongate its limbs. It’s an experiment he’s been trying by combining a few charms from his mother’s books.

A paw bursts. Harry grimaces and cleans the mess wandlessly. He can use Scourgify non-verbally; having learnt the charm by accident while scrubbing plates.

Harry learns to make the tail fan-shaped, and is in the process of trying out wings when the compartment gets invaded. It’s a pudgy, round-faced boy.

“Er, hello...? Mind if I sit here?”

Harry has hidden the distorted mice into his sleeve with a deft flick of his hands, and scowls at the unwanted visitor. He would rather have this ride in peace, free from spying eyes.

“Those mice are cute.” The round-faced boy says shyly. “I’ve got an owl.”

Harry bares his teeth in mockery of a smile. “Yes, then my mice must be careful, won’t they?” He does not like the timid disposition of his companion. The boy does not sense his sarcasm, and laughs, as though Harry has told a joke.

“I’m Neville Longbottom.” He offers his hand, and Harry shakes it reluctantly.

“Harry Evans.”

Longbottom scratches his head awkwardly. “I don’t mean to be rude... but-” he pauses, terribly insecure, and Harry feels a vein throbbing in his temple. If this sort of pathetic conversation goes on much longer, he will curse the boy. However, Harry nods, prompting the other boy. “... Are you a Muggleborn?”

Harry grimaces. “No. Half-blood.” He wonders if having a Muggleborn mother and a Muggle father made him a quarter-blood or something of the like. He shudders. “Albeit, I was raised in the Muggle world.”

Longbottom nods along, looking relieved. Harry wants to ask what’s so interesting, but thinks better of it. He takes out one of his textbooks and flips through, although he has read it several times. The train ride is undisturbed for the next few hours.

The door slides open ceremoniously, and a blond swaggers in, flanked by two thickheads. Harry pretends to ignore the entrance, while discreetly studying the pests. Longbottom seems to withdraw from the three, and Harry inferred from the blond boy’s proclamation that Longbottom was someone famous in the Wizarding World.

Harry perks up.

He tries to subtly probe the newcomer’s mind, and is met with stories of war-hero parents and lone survivors. Finding nothing more, he returns to his book. Longbottom is grateful that Harry does not bombard him with questions, like countless others must have.

...................................

Severus Snape watches the assembled midgets with hawkish eyes. The batch has Neville Longbottom, and all eyes are on the round-faced boy. But Severus isn’t looking at Longbottom. He’s scanning the crowd for Potter.

Lily’s son.

The child who could have been. He’s more thankful that Lily isn’t dead.

Finally, McGonagall calls out, “Evans, Harry” and Severus is startled. He hadn’t known the boy kept Lily’s surname.

The child who walks to the stool isn’t anything Severus had expected. For one, he has _auburn_ hair. It’s long and lank, framing his face all the way down to his shoulders. He’s also long, bony and waxy, like the boy hadn’t seen sunlight in days. There is no signature Potter glasses, and his clothes are ratty, second-hand robes.

Merlin help him, Severus freezes. He cannot imagine this waif as Lily’s son.

The hat is on the boy’s head for a minute, before it announces, “SLYTHERIN!”

That night, Severus’s gaze never leaves the boy long, not even when the famous Longbottom boy goes into Gryffindor, to thunderous applause from the Lion House. Potter’s settled precariously at the corner of the Slytherin table, and keeps scanning the crowd warily.

A few days into term, and Severus has his session with the First Years. Potter is at the back, and Severus is determined to catch him slacking off. Finally, Severus has his moment, when the boy’s eyes are drooping. He descends on the unassuming boy like a vulture, and barks out his name.

The sound startles the boy, but he does not respond. There is a buzz of whispers throughout the classroom, and Severus realises he’s been thinking of the brat as ‘Potter’, when his name was ‘Evans.’

It takes every bit of his Occlumentic shields to rein himself when Lily’s stunning emerald green eyes peer back at him. Severus corrects himself, and calls him again, by the correct surname. He cannot associate Lily with this- this vagabond.

“Yes, Sir?” The boy is polite, and calm, despite having been just woken up.

“What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

The boy does not need to think before answering. “The Draught of Living Death, Sir.” Severus fires a few other questions rapidly, and the boy answers easily. The Potions Master is disgruntled and reluctantly awards a point to Slytherin before heading off to torment Longbottom.

That, on the other hand, is a terrible case of nerves, and Severus derives great pleasure in driving the arrogant little celebrity to tears. The class ends quickly, and Severus is stunned to find three perfect cures on his table. There’s Draco, obviously, and the pesky Muggleborn girl, and Severus is surprised to see Pot- Evans’.

The boy has Lily’s talent.

The first staff meeting of the year has the professors discussing potential first years. Neville Longbottom, Severus is pleased to note, seems to be utterly hopeless at everything except Herbology. He does not add to the gossip, but Dumbledore can feel the smugness radiating off him, and gives him a disapproving stare.

Severus does not mind. He can use Longbottom’s ineptitude to score one over McGonagall.

Granger is another surprising student, excelling in all her classes. Flitwick exclaims eagerly, how Granger was the first to master the Wand-lighting charm. McGonagall supplants with her perfect needle. As usual, Severus says nothing, and no one minds.

The discussion eventually turns to Evans, and the professors express their mixed reactions- the boy is inattentive, but knows the answers. Perhaps, it is because he is arrogant, but no, the boy preferred to keep to himself. In terms of magical capacity, he performs well, but he’s always distracted.

Severus has given the game away to the denizens of the castle by calling Evans ‘Potter’ in class- the entire student body now knows that Harry Evans is James Potter’s unwanted son.

After the meeting, Dumbledore inquires how Lily’s son has been settling in the Slytherin dormitories. Severus does not know, but he resolves to keep an eye out.

It takes a few months, but Harry does find his place in Slytherin. The boy has not found friends, but he has learnt to make his stand. Severus knows from painful experience that if one takes abuse lying down, Slytherin House will stomp on them until they break.

With his identity established, Harry seems to be making progress. He’s alert in class, observant of both the lesson and his classmates. He makes pristine concoctions in Severus’ class, easily surpassing Draco and Granger. The boy has ingenuity, and has no qualms throwing fluxweed or mashed beetles into others’ cauldrons, effectively preventing explosions.

The first time Harry had done that, Severus questioned him, and was mildly impressed when the boy confidently replied that fluxweed could counter the potion’s thickness, and stop it from swelling into a glop.

The boy’s notes and essays, on the other hand, are a mess. They’re nothing like Lily’s meticulous script, scratched and scrawled horribly on the parchment, ideas branching off into wild tangents, often connected together with arrows and circled viciously. Sometimes, they didn’t seem connected at all, and Severus would often amuse himself with making the links. It is fairly obvious the child has been going through potions journals.

Other staff echo his thoughts in other subjects, especially the ones involving heavy wandwork. The boy doesn’t show off in class, or attempt to correct others (unlike that flashy Muggleborn) but he can demonstrate a perfect spell if called upon.

..................................


	3. Chapter 3

The first week, Harry learns what happens to Mudbloods and blood-traitor bastards in Slytherin.

Evans isn’t a Wizarding surname, and he suffers for bearing it. His bed is set on fire one day, drenched the next, slime splattered over his desk (something that he couldn’t vanish and scourgify away) and Harry realises that the Wizarding World isn’t that different from the Muggle one.

People are pathetic trash, waiting to be stepped on.

He can’t sleep, the first few weeks. There are all sorts of curses on his bed- and he’s sure upper years are involved. It’s safer in the classroom, and Harry finds himself dozing- that is, until someone sabotages his work. Spells misfire, transfigurations go horribly wrong, and potions explode. It is difficult, but Harry manages to keep his senses trained on any possible attackers, in the classrooms and corridors, as well as in the dungeons.

Malfoy and Zabini seem have found ingenious ways to actively involve the seniors in tormenting Harry. His trunk is blasted open in the common-room one day and the contents flown out in all directions. Word spreads that his clothes belonged to his mother, and suddenly Harry is the laughing stock of Slytherin. Sixth years seem to take pleasure from suddenly vanishing his robes, leaving him in his worn, old underpants. Other years enjoy shutting him in broom cupboards with advanced locking charms that a simple Colloportus couldn’t open. The showers have been hexed to only spout freezing cold water on him,

Bulstrode’s cat pisses on his bed, and Harry loses it. He picks up what possessions he can salvage, and storms out of the dorms. There’s an abandoned classroom in the dungeons that he can spend the night in. The next day, the whole school calls him a bedwetter.

Hatred surging through every fibre of his being, Harry spends every waking hour in the Library. He looks up curses, and once he has mastered a few downright nasty ones, he sets about for his revenge. The sixth-years who stripped him in the common room are bitten by worms when they sleep. When they wake, the worms disappear. Flint gets cursed to have boils on his private parts, and Harry twists the spell incantation just enough that ‘Finite’ cannot undo it. The boy has to visit Madam Pomfrey every day, for a whole week. Rowle is poisoned during lunch. It’s just belladonna, but he also has a stint in the Hospital Wing. Harry continues to pore through the Library’s section on jinxes, until he comes across Taboo.

It’s a universal-range spell that allows some curse to be connected to a word. The word and the curse can be varied, and he relishes the thought. ‘Bedwetter’ is promptly connected to loosening the bladder, to instantaneous effect. The first instance of Harry’s Taboo is in the corridor, where a group of Gryffindors harass him. They push Harry around, chorusing insults, and promptly embarrass themselves.

Harry learns to assert his position to the majority of Slytherin with this series of comebacks. In the dorms, he slides a snake into Draco Malfoy’s bed at night and savours the boy’s screams like the finest of concertos. For Zabini, it is blood spurting from the shower. Harry gets up before Zabini does, slits up one of his disfigured mice and drains the blood into the showerhead after his use, casting a multiplying charm. Crabbe and Goyle are such pitiful thickheads who would jump into a well if Malfoy ordered, that Harry does not include them in his revenge. It’s almost like kicking dogs.

He writes home regularly, animated descriptions of lessons, just what he knew Lily liked to hear. He told her about his roommates, how they rarely ever included him- it’s easier to string half-truths together than outright lies.

Yule arrives, and people pack to go home. Harry is torn, before signing up to stay behind. He’ll have the dorms to himself, free to experiment. Lily is upset, but he’s told her that he made a friend.

Which he has, if the giant squid counts. He’s been feeding it his enlarged mice-monstrosities.

Harry’s been teaching himself to swim, using the lake in the afternoon. He can now dive and catch fish. The next series of experiments are on fish, trying to make them grow legs, and change their single-chambered hearts to amphibian hearts.

Nott catches Harry exploding a fish.

The boy’s also staying at school for the holidays, but he rarely lingers in the dorms.

Harry quickly vanishes the splattered flesh, but Nott has seen it. The other boy is intrigued. He’s a peculiar one, scrawny and nondescript, but he does not care much for wealth and blood-status.

Nott regularly comes to practice with Harry, and he owls his dad for books. They are mostly Dark Arts, and Harry relishes his first successful attempt at the Blood-thickening charm. They’re different from the magic he’s been learning at school. The Dark Arts offers a feeling of euphoria when successfully cast, and are much more challenging to learn wandlessly.

“Careful,” Nott says, when Harry performs one too many wandless cutting curses over a fish. “It’s addictive.”

Nott does know what he’s talking about. He comes from a family of Dark Wizards.

Harry catches another snake in the Forest, and they research on combining properties. Harry chats up the Groundskeeper, and the man is happy to offer advice on beast cross-breeding. Nott picks apart one of Lily’s old potions journals, and finds the theoretical magic behind Polyjuice. The mice soon develop fangs and powerful leg muscles, and can strike in the blink of an eye. Small transfigurations to the mice’s forelimbs offer it more dexterity, and Harry looks up on carnivorous plants to modify the tail into another fanged mouth.

It’s beautiful, but the charms can’t be reversed. The mouse is too strong and agile. Harry immediately makes a Stasis ward around the abomination- the kind that his mother put around food to keep it fresh.

The charm is weak against a monster, and holds for barely an hour. Harry has to renew them again and again- it’s inconvenient.

Nott tells him about the Unforgivables. There’s a Killing Curse, and they both try. Unsurprisingly, it does not work. The Unforgivables require hatred and intent to succeed.

The Stunning spell does work, and Harry learns it quickly. Nott isn’t magically powerful, so he’s the one lifting the stasis, while Harry shoots a Stunner at the disfigured mouse.

It misses, and the mouse attacks Harry, sinking its fangs onto Harry’s arm. The boy reacts quickly, pulling out one of his hidden pocketknives and driving it through the mouse’s abdomen. It splits the creature in two, and there’s flesh spilling out. He uses the last of his consciousness to vanish the mess.

When Harry wakes up, he’s in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey comes to change the bandages on his hand, and scolds him for sneaking into the Forbidden Forest.

He assumes it’s a cover story that Nott made up, and bows his head sorrowfully. He apologises. Nott comes by later to tell him that Harry was supposedly bitten by a snake he snuck into the dormitory. It’s also partially true, and Harry nods in approval. Snape comes by, and puts Harry in detention. The look in his eyes tell that Snape knows he’s responsible for the snake in Malfoy’s bed. Nott comes by with the information that Snape has searched the dorm for any more such ‘surprises’, and that he’s had to throw out the dead grotesques into the lake before the dungeon bat found them. The living mice are safe in Nott’s empty owl cage.

Their acquaintance is much subdued outside the privacy of their dorms. They eat together, and Nott leaves for the library, while Harry locks himself in the dormitory.

He’s been shooting up in the class rankings; he’s toe-to-toe with Granger in almost everything. But in Potions, he _excels,_ because he knows Snape can’t stand textbook-regurgitation. And the Muggleborn show-off can’t stand it, because his answers are unorthodox, and only a few in the class can ever make the links.

The holidays end, and students fill up the castle. Classes continue. News spreads of yet another Death Eater attack on Longbottom’s house. The Dark Lord launches at least one unsuccessful attack on the residence each year. Malfoy boasts that it’s mere formality at this point.

“Like you would know, eh, Malfoy?” Third year Blishwick ask jokingly. “Daddy up in all the right places, eh?”

Malfoy flushes in anger and sweeps out of the common room. Later, Nott tells Harry of the powerful Dark Lord who has control over the whole of Wizarding Britain. But not Hogwarts- the headmaster is a powerful enemy.

It’s an open secret that Malfoy’s father is in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, but there’s no evidence to convict him. In public, allying with the Dark is frowned upon, and only self-assured prats like Malfoy and Parkinson do it. But there’s no punishment, because the Dark Lord owns the Ministry, even if people don’t dare think it aloud. Meanwhile, publicly supporting the Light side (Dumbledore and the Ministry) is celebrated and any secret allies of the Light are carefully taken out by the Dark Lord.

Harry realises Wizarding Britain is a group of hypocritical sheep. They can be herded and led, and any oppression easily trampled upon.

He isn’t sure if he’s Light or Dark. But he does know that he’d like it very much to usurp the Dark Lord’s position and rule Britannia.

No. That’s too short-sighted an ambition.

Harry wants the whole world grovelling at his feet.

He smiles unpleasantly, baring his uneven, dull teeth. Beside him, Nott shudders.

......................................

Lily gets the job at Slug and Jiggers. Mrs Jigger is a lovely lady, and doesn’t ask much about her. Lily uses her mother’s maiden name, Warren. A glamour works just as well. Stepping into Diagon Alley makes her much less reluctant to perform magic. It’s a Wizarding society, she’s more likely to stick out if she does everything the Muggle way.

The job does not pay much more than the wages she scrapes together at Cokeworth. But it is stable, and Lily prefers it to doing menial work like household help and waitressing.

Mrs Jigger is easy to impress, given that Lily knows almost all ingredients by sight, and she _was_ brilliant at potions after all... The job is relatively simple, and there aren’t many customers when the school is in term. Most potioneers prefer to owl-order their supplies or pick it fresh. She meets a few of her old schoolmates, who do not recognise her. The glamours are strong.

But there are a few, who recognise Lily by her wandwork and skill. They tell her it’s such a shame that someone as talented as Lily is wasting her life away in a little shop in Diagon Alley. Lily strongly denies it, but the niggling worm of doubt has manifested in her mind.

Lily isn’t wasting her life- she’s got her son to live for.

But her son isn’t here; he’s at Hogwarts. The house in Cokeworth feels horribly empty, and the time she spends outside of work is listless, like a living corpse. It is meaningless.

The next letter from Harry speaks about how he’s shooting up in his classes, and Lily feels an ache through every fibre of her being, the longing to do something productive, for once. She owls famous Charms Masters and asks if she can complete her mastery.

At first, they are sceptic. Then they agree to test her.

Lily attends the first interview with her glamour on, and the Master is impressed. He refers Lily to one of his colleagues, who specialises in cosmetic charms. Lily attends that interview too, but honestly states that her interests specifically lay in spell-crafting. Finally, they both refer Lily to Madam Beetel, who’s famous for tinkering with Muggle appliances, trying to make Wizarding equivalents. The lady regularly gets into trouble at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office.

It’s not the best option, but Lily accepts it nonetheless. It’s close to what Lily wants to do.

They start up a correspondence course, and meet up on the weekends to discuss Lily’s progress.

Christmas draws close, and Lily is disappointed when Harry does not return. The holidays are spent poring over dusty volumes, working on her first project of experimenting with the telly. Beetel scavenges a broken CRT from a garbage dump, and they spend days trying to fix it.

The mastery was a good choice- it consumes her days.

Harry does not return for Easter either, but as term comes to a close, Lily can expect her son at Platform 9 ¾.

He looks healthy, having gained some weight to cover the boniness of his frame. Hugging her boy tightly, Lily notices that he’s sprung up a good few inches. Lily’s first-year uniforms bare much of his ankles. She does not miss that there’s no one waving him goodbye as they leave the station.

Back home, Harry is pleasantly surprised to learn that Lily has decided to complete her mastery. Lily asks him about everything- despite having received regular letters, she cannot get enough of her son, or life at Hogwarts, for that matter.

Then she poses the big question, the one she’s been hesitating to ask through a letter. Is Harry being bullied by the Slytherins? Her son casually denies it, and deflects the topic expertly. Lily does press him over the week, until Harry snaps.

He tells her in calmly simmering anger that he isn’t bullied; and that even if he was, he doesn’t need _her_ help.

There’s a sense of déjà vu.

Lily doesn’t ask about it after that. She doesn’t want to lose her son the way she lost her best friend.

....................................


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: For those who are here for the Angsty-fluff Snily
> 
> The Snily is exactly what the tags say, angst and fluff, and it will be slow burn friends-to-lovers. That's regarding Severus and Lily. As for Harry...
> 
> Mind you, this gets dark. We have a real Dark Harry here. It's not the [Gimme my money back, Dumblefuck, you and Weasley betrayed me so I'm Joining Voldemort] kind-of dark.  
> He's cruel, has zero morals, zero empathy. He also has controversial world views that many people are uncomfortable with. So if torture, indiscriminate use of science and discussions on Muggle segregation make you squeamish, this fic is not for you. Harry will also have a lasting fascination with knives and blood.
> 
> Also, there will be some disturbing sexual content featuring Harry some time in the future- not yet, but when he's older. When that happens, I will update the tags and change the rating of the fic to explicit.

Harry tends to ignore the school rules of not performing magic during the vacations. He hovers over her old cauldrons, working on something or the other, and she’s almost sure she caught a glimpse of erumpent fluid in a jar. Then, he comes to her, asking for a ward in the basement so that if a potion explodes, the house wouldn’t fall.

Lily is alarmed, but he assures her that he knows what he’s doing. He puts it in such simple, logical terms that Lily has no choice but to give in, although she knows it’s blatant Slytherin manipulation. The concession comes with a quartz pendant- ruby would have been ideal, but Lily can’t afford it- layered with the finest of her protection charms that can shield him from most magical damage. It is highly unlikely for Harry to get hit by the Unforgivables inside their basement, so the pendant will suffice.

He smiles brilliantly and kisses her- she flutters like a butterfly in the breeze, her son hasn’t kissed her in ages- and then runs off to his makeshift lab.

That is for Potions. Harry’s interests are much more varied than merely a single subject. He asks for the same ward in his room (for practicing spells, he says) and when Lily reminds him of the school rule, Harry smirks and wandlessly levitates her.

Lily is stunned. To think that Harry has honed his accidental magic into something this powerful leaves her breathless.

He’s her son. He’s a genius.

Lily is the proudest mother in the world.

She includes him in her experiments for the Charms Mastery after that. Harry can grasp theory well, because there isn’t a book in the house he hasn’t digested; and he scrutinises the actual magic of her spellwork and attempts to replicate it.

It doesn’t succeed much, but that’s not surprising. Harry’s only barely twelve.

It is during certain moments that Lily remembers how tenderly young her son is. Like the instance when he asks if Lily can fix his teeth.

Harry’s teeth are uneven and slightly yellow, and she suddenly realises that he’s embarrased to speak or smile because of it. Her heart aches, but she doesn’t know any cosmetic charms to remedy that. And while her transfigurations aren’t poor, she doesn’t want to polish her rusty skills on her son’s teeth. Lily hugs her son and tells him how there are things beyond external beauty, that he’d find someone who sees him as he truly is, misshapen teeth and lank hair and all that.

Harry’s scathing glare answers that he’s not satisfied. Lily’s experiments unknowingly shift to cosmetic charms.

......................................

Harry leaves the house at times. His mother finds it unusual, since he was never an outgoing boy.

He still isn’t, but he has graduated from mice to larger animals. Crows and pigeons are the only birds to be found in Cokeworth. It’s a lot of trouble, but he catches a crow.

Birds are easier than insects. The dragonflies he catch in the nearby thickets all die quickly. Power has to be controlled when casting on insects. He cannot bend them to his will, nor turn them into metal bugs.

Birds have a basic mind that Harry can influence. But birds are flighty. He has to be quicker and sharper than the bird. Lily’s higher year books deal with extremely detailed transfiguration, and Harry tries to turn the crow into an owl.

The bird becomes a useless crossbreed that he can’t reverse and Harry contemplates on ending its miserable life, but thinks better of it. The crow is kept in Harry’s wardrobe, and occasionally experimented on. Lily’s forays into spellcrafting gets Harry into the idea of making up his own spells. The crow soon gets bat-like hearing, and a pathetic attempt at disillusion backfires into chameleon-like colour-changing skills.

It’s darned luck, it is.

Harry spends days obsessing over the chameleon charm, attempting to replicate it. Finally, he can use a reversible version on animals and inanimate objects. He sneaks out, peeks into a Muggle house and uses it on the telly.

The reaction is incredible. The residents screech and scream, and Harry sends pans flying at them, knocking them out. The telly’s spell is reversible, and he tries it on one of the unconscious Muggles.

It doesn’t revert.

Harry panics, pulls out the pocket knife and slashes away at the charmed Muggle. The blood wets him, but it’s bizarrely orange and teal, like paint. Harry uses the rest of the family to experiment and perfect the charm, and slits all their throats afterwards.

Less people to give him away.

(He later learns that Chameleon-like colour-changing, along with shapeshifting, is an ability passed down in certain families, called Metamorphmagic. That seems like something interesting to work with- a worthy skill to possess.)

Lily would be horrified if he killed someone, and that’s why Harry doesn’t let her in on _his_ experiments.

He feels nothing but pleasure on ridding the world of Muggles. They’re useless, worthless, blundering away their lives- just eating, sleeping and reproducing. They have no ambition, no greater purpose than adding to their own numbers.

There are five billion humans in the world. A small fraction of them are useful.

The rest are trash.

Of course, that is not to say all Muggles are worthless. There are brilliant ones- like Einstein. Napoleon. And Shakespeare and Newton. People with purpose, people with greater destinies than just living out their pathetic lives in little hovels.

Harry thinks of the Weasleys. It’s no secret that the horde lives to multiply, but they’re adding to _magical blood._ That’s what makes all the difference.

Then he thinks of Filch, and other squibs like him. They were born without magic. Does that mean they’re trash? No, perhaps squibs can be taught to respect Wizarding culture. Perhaps, squibs can be used to breed magical children of superior lineage.

An idea strikes him. Perhaps, he thinks gleefully, squibs and Muggleborns can be studied, and their magical genes isolated, to create proper magical children in the future.

Harry feels like a revolutionary. He cannot wait to look into it.

His mother is surprised when Harry starts talking about Muggle science- about genetics and traits. He keeps his questions moderated, like the passing down of hair colour and bone structure. He asks why inbreeding mutates the gene, since the crossing of two desirable species should only, theoretically, create an even more desirable offspring.

Harry’s questions stump Lily, who has been out of touch with Muggle science since she was ten. But she uses up her savings to buy him science texts from Muggle bookstores. Harry is overjoyed to find that Muggle science does explain it well, and compares Pureblood inbreeding to dog-breeding. There’s a thing called pedigree, an artificial selection of traits. Purebloods must have started out under that same principle, but the practice devolved so much that blood status came before desirable traits.

It’s a breakthrough. Harry knows what has to be done.

The key is traits, not blood.

Harry waits until it’s time to return to school, and he corners Nott in the Express before sharing his findings. Nott is horrified.

It’s callous, Harry’s idea. Harry disagrees; after all, lettuce and cauliflowers were created in that exact way. There’s nothing wrong with selective breeding.

....................................

Second year starts out not much differently from the first. Harry and Granger are neck to neck in the rankings, he’s gotten more charming with his words. Other houses (except Gryffindor) have begun to overlook Harry’s status as the unwanted Potter bastard and genuinely approach him for help, and while Harry does not joke around with them, they still admire him for his intelligence and calm demeanour.

Some of the Slytherins have also changed their view on Harry’s presence in the house- the lower years appreciate him for raking in points from all the classess. But there is equal animosity when Harry frequently explodes the dorm room or some unused classroom in his experiments and lands himself in detentions.

Nott is often involved.

There’s no use hiding their acquaintance (can it be called friendship if they are mutually using each other?) from public eyes anymore- Nott has been caught up in exploding the dungeons thrice, and found in the vicinity when Harry tries to dismantle one of the moving stairs to study its magic; effectively causing the magic to fail and rain tonnes of stone on the heads of unsuspecting students.

They sit together more often in classes- especially transfiguration.

Draco Malfoy is the first to point it out in the Slytherin common room. People avoid Nott like the plague afterwards, and Harry hears rumours that Nott Sr was punished by the Dark Lord for his son associating with a Mudblood.

Harry wants to point out that he isn’t a Mudblood; but his father is most likely a Muggle and his Mum’s a Muggleborn. There’s enough _Muggle_ in his bloodline. He grimaces and ignores the matter entirely. But things are not that easy.

The third and fourth years are the most enraged that Harry has dared to corrupt a pureblood scion. They attack Harry from behind, on the way back from Charms, and Harry has to be taken to the Hospital Wing.

To take any more curses lying down is beneath him, and Harry decides that pranks are not enough retaliation. Bletchley is involved, and he’s the one the third and fourth years look up to. In the safety of the common room, where Slytherins can squabble, curse each other and let down their united façade, Harry walks up to Bletchley. He uses his own spells, experimental but reversible.

“Baubulus.”

Bletchley’s fingers swell up one by one. They’re full of slime, and eventually, the skin gives away and the flesh bursts. The boy screams. It’s like watching tiny firecrackers go off under Bletchley’s skin; and not even Stunning Harry can stop the curse.

One of the sixth years step in and reenervate Harry. If he stops the curse, they will vanish most of the mess on Bletchley’s body and pretend nothing happened. Madam Pomfrey and Snape won’t need to know a thing.

Harry sneers. “Let him crawl here and beg.”

The unfortunate boy’s year mates are enraged, but Bletchley is in far too much pain to care. He crawls sluggishly- it’s not like he can walk with dignity when his legs are covered in tomato-like swellings. The boy is almost at Harry’s feet when he faints from the pain.

“Reenervate.” Harry casts calmly, and Bletchley is awake and shivering. “Beg for my mercy.”

“Stop!” The boy cries. “Please, for the love of Merlin, make it stop!”

“I think not. It’s much more fun to let it run its course.” Harry grins smugly, pocketing his wand, and leaves for the dormitories as the whole of the older boy is consumed by the swelling. All of them eventually bursts, and then the flesh under it seals together, raw but healed. A quiet ‘Evanesco’ vanishes the bloody slime, returning the common room to its pristine, clean state.

A horrified silence befalls the common room.

The senior years wonder if they ought to call Snape. Bletchley looks fine, but he has passed out. The boy’s friends cart him off to the Hospital Wing, just in case. They pretend it’s a spell gone wrong, and the matron finds nothing wrong with him- physically.

Harry smirks when Nott comes into the dorm room and flashes him a thumbs-up. The other boy wants to learn the spell, and Harry proudly tells him it’s his own creation. He has been practising on slugs, Muggles and other vermin.

The Torment of Bletchley changes the state of Slytherin’s hierarchy.

The fifth and sixth years are intrigued, the seventh years are still apathetic, and the rest of the years are sufficiently cowed. Of course, Draco Malfoy seems to be the exception. He thinks that money and influence can win him anything, and do not slip a chance to insult Harry.

To ensure peace, the enemy must be annihilated.

In the dormitories, Harry stalks to Malfoy’s bed and slips out his knives. There are quite a few, snatched from unsuspecting Muggles. The most dramatic is the gleaming carving knife, and a simple body-bind ensures Malfoy’s compliance while Harry slides the cool blade over the vain git’s smooth legs.

It’s a low, Muggle trick, and Harry intents to prove to the blond brat that he does not even need magic to teach him a lesson. Crabbe and Goyle jump up to defend their master, and are promptly dealt with by another spell.

Malfoy watches with horror as Harry demonstrates what he’s going to do on a squirrel. Messy chunks of flesh drop from the struggling animal, onto Malfoy’s chest. The knife slits the rodent’s throat at last, blood gurgling out while he uses the blade to trace red twirls on the boy’s leg and Harry knows he has broken the other boy.

The body-binds are released, and Harry allows the three to huddle together and comfort each other.

Nott stares at the carving knife. It isn’t the best knife for cleaving flesh off squirrels. Harry grins back- he knows this. He has a smaller fillet knife that can do the job better, but the macabre effect is magnified by the size of the carving knife. Harry doubts he can sneak a butcher’s cleaver into Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy has been subjugated. He barely looks at Harry, and when he does, it’s with fear.

It’s beautiful, the pale terror etched on his skin. Harry craves the rush he gets from wielding power over others.

.............................


	5. Chapter 5

Severus peers over his morning paper. There’s a change in the Slytherin table- it’s not the seating (really, do people expect Slytherin to hold court in the Great Hall with the King at the head? There hasn’t been a King _that_ powerful since the Dark Lord himself) but the students are very alert. Something has happened, there’s politics at play. Draco is not his usual self, he’s subdued, and Bletchley is missing from the table.

Severus vaguely remembers one of the prefects reporting that Bletchley had miscast a spell and was sent to the hospital. It’s not that extraordinary- Miles Bletchley has no magical power to speak of; only his family’s political pull can keep his status in Slytherin. He half-expects Draco to take over Bletchley’s position in a year or so.

From the other side of the High Table, giggles burst out. Lockhart’s telling Sinistra and Burbage another of his pathetic jokes, and they’re simpering. Severus shudders- anyone with half a brain ought to realise what a fraud that man is.

Unfortunately, not even his Slytherins are spared from Lockhart’s dubious charm. The girls are one thing, but Severus does not expect Harry, _Lily’s son,_ to be trailing after the pea-brained peacock, looking utterly infatuated.

Severus observes the boy every day, and most of the child’s time in public is spent chatting with Lockhart. And the worst part is, it’s rubbing off on him.

Harry flashes smiles and winks at people these days, and it’s nauseating to watch. Perhaps, the Potter-ness is coming out of him at last.

Severus groans when Lockhart announces the opening of a duelling club. People perk up, and Harry seems to have stars in his eyes. It makes Severus bitter- he has always longed for Lily’s emerald eyes looking at _him_ that way. Now that eager glance is towards yet another idiot.

The duelling club opens with great pomp and circumstance, and Severus intends to put that dandy in his place. His Disarming charm blasts Lockhart off the stage, and the fool attempts to regain respect. He doesn’t need to try so much- his little fan club is still sighing and mooning. The students are then paired up to try out the Disarming charm.

Friends pair together and it isn’t showing to be very productive, so Severus suggests inter-house pairings. It works better in some cases, and fails dramatically in others. Slytherins and Gryffindors are hell-bent on blasting each other off the face of Earth, and some fights get outrageously physical. Lockhart makes futile attempts to restore order; Severus has to cast an overpowered ‘Finite’ and amplify his voice, booming a “Silence!” throughout the hall.

His voice is enough to freeze the unruly cretins, and they fall back in line.

The lesson progresses fairly well. Dumbledore is impressed that Lockhart has managed to keep the club running for two hours and a half, so he lets the sessions continue once every two Thursdays. It is Hell, and Snape wishes he hadn’t agreed to supervise. He had thought of putting the flouncy git in his place, but the plan has backfired horribly.

In the fifth session of the Duelling club, Lockhart decides to call pairs to formally duel on a raised platform. The choice is easily the best students of each year.

There’s a remarkable lack of NEWT students in the club, so the few sixth and seventh years present are called to demonstrate first. They are there to ogle Lockhart and half of them can’t duel to save their lives. Severus scowls and calls upon OWL students. There’s Farren from Ravenclaw, who’s the best in her year, and Slytherin’s Montague, who has a family history of being capable duellists.

The duel is adequate, and he’s satisfied to see some of the younger years taking notes.

Severus is intrigued when Harry gets paired with Granger to duel on the platform. He has observed Granger- the girl has a veritable collection of hexes and jinxes in her head, and generally performs well in the Duelling club, except when paired with one of the more... physical Slytherins, and it turns into a bout of wrestling. Harry, on the other hand, is content to pair up with one of the Hufflepuffs, and practise whatever Lockhart has suggested.

The two children mount the platform, and bow.

‘Expelliarmus’ leaves Harry’s wand the moment the count reaches three. His posture is just right to catch the flying wand. The duel has ended. Severus is disgruntled, and so is Granger. Lockhart returns the girl her wand and asks them to duel again, to try casting other spells this time.

Granger surprises them by flaring a Lumos Maxima at Harry, and the boy immediately reacts by casting a Shield Charm. (A proper shield charm! Severus is mildly impressed, not that he shows it.) It blocks Granger’s tickling charm and gives the boy time to retaliate with a Switching spell that switches the girl’s wand with the torch in a brazier along the wall. The duel ends again and Harry flashes a brilliant smile, twirling his wand and bowing flamboyantly to instant applause. It’s a clever use of spells, people usually don’t think of Switching spells or the Wand-lighting Charm in a duel.

Severus is taken aback by the gesture- Harry hasn’t ever been this flashy- but he cannot deny that the boy has inherited the best of Lily’s features. The green of his eyes are magnetising, and the hair does not look so terrible when properly cared for.

...............................

It is these remarkable displays at the Duelling club that gain Harry the first of his following. There are students star-struck by his displays of wit and skill, and his elegant and fluid movements.

Harry is intelligent and powerful, and he knows it. But he’s not the most attractive face in Hogwarts. There are others like Diggory and Lockhart, who can charm their way to fame.

Lockhart might be a stupid fraud, but no one can deny that the man is a women-magnet. A little flattery and more of subtle mind-magic nudges has Lockhart firmly in Harry’s grasp. He’s careful to ask only things that interest Lockhart, like the secret to a winning smile, winking successfully, and dressing to catch eyes. They spend hours discussing colour combinations and hair-potions and Harry even helps the man answer his fan mail.

There’s an incredible number of cosmetic charms, Harry learns. Lockhart knows a lot of them.

“Selfcare is the principal care!” The man announces, and shows Harry a hair-smoothening spell. He lends the boy a trial amount of his patent hair lotion, Glossyharts, which Harry promptly pours into a bottle charmed to multiply itself. That’s followed by various oils, creams and Breathtaking Toothpaste Trademark, and Harry has an ever-refilling kit of cosmetics.

Clothes are a trouble- Harry only owns his mother’s hand-me-downs. But that’s alright- he can play the impoverished genius card.

Nott notices these changes, but keeps quiet. Malfoy glimpses Harry’s hair lotion and squeals, before remembering whose potions they are. Harry amusedly lets the boy gush over the lotion, and pomade, after that, and Sleekeazy’s products.

It takes a few months, but by spring, Malfoy isn’t as terrified of Harry as to lose his wits. That is a big win, of course, because the brat has family in high places. He’s useful to have around.

The summer break approaches and Harry disembarks from the Hogwarts Express with waves and goodbyes from his little following. He smirks- it’s been a productive year.

.....................................

Lily’s astounded to see the difference in Harry as he approaches her. As usual, he’s shot up another few inches, and Lily’s second-year robes are too short for him. He has filled out even more- not quite as bony as he was last summer.

But the greatest difference is in the way he carries himself. Gone is the asocial, introverted little boy; Harry smiles benevolently at everyone who bids him goodbye, he shakes the hands of some children, and there’s a blond boy who suspiciously looks like a Malfoy, who’s eagerly talking to him.

Harry eventually shoos the Malfoy boy away and comes to Lily. He beams, and hugs her, and then he grins.

His teeth are perfectly shaped and sparkling white.

Apparently, his Defence professor that year had been _the_ Gilderoy Lockhart, and he had taught Harry to fix his teeth and liven up his hair.

Lily cannot recognise her little boy. He has grown up so much. But she’s no less proud of what he’s becoming.

They apparate home, and Lily shows him her progress in the Charms Mastery. It’s a two year apprenticeship, and there’s only the summer left for her to be acknowledged as a Charms Master. Then she can, hopefully, find better work opportunities, and better their prospects.

Lily and Harry work together on Charms as they’ve always done. For potions, Lily shows him the little experiments she’s been working on, and Harry shows her his side project on astronomical cycles and their relation to potions and healing.

There’s a little telly in the living room- apparently Madam Beetel succeeded in charming one of those devices to respond to the Wizarding Wireless Network, but they still haven’t figured out how to transfer images- and a radio in the kitchen. Lily makes Harry dance with her while they’re cooking dinner, and laughs as she twirls him about.

Harry has two left feet, and she decides to use the summer to remedy that.

They use charms to repair the house from top to bottom, and clean up the backyard to make a little warded space for magical plants. There’s a lot of potion-making going on during summer and Lily can’t afford to buy so many ingredients.

It’s the happiest Lily’s been in years, and she wonders how she could have thought of completely cutting off the Wizarding World from their lives.

..............................

A good number of the experimental charms are ready for human-testing. Harry sneaks about the nearby suburbs, placing little compulsions on Muggles to come to him. It’s best to test on humans where no one can see them. Some of the charms work, some don’t.

Harry is glad he has stolen Lockhart’s secrets from his mind- the defence professor doesn’t know it, but Harry has learnt the Memory Charm, and the newly-caught Muggles are the best test-subjects for Memory charms as well.

An attempt to conjure wings onto a human fails- broomsticks are so inconvenient, he needs an alternative- and the resulting transfiguration is impossible to reverse. Such blatant changes cannot be merely erased from the mind, so he gets to practice Dark Arts on them. It’s such a clever way to reuse and recycle.

Harry’s also been studying dragon scales. They’re expensive ingredients, but it’s worth buying some to study their magical properties. Dragonhide is a fine material, but it isn’t as impervious to spells and physical damage as an actual dragon. The scales, however, can be soaked in a reinforcing solution (he has yet to come up with one) and connected to make an armour. Better still, they can be used intensively in a variant of polyjuice to modify the skin of the drinker into scales. Polyjuice reacts strangely with animal bits; but it hasn’t been properly studied as the intent of Polyjuice has always been to change a human into another.

Harry has five different vials of the Armourskin, all prepared differently. He tests the Imperius curse on the Muggles, and wills the successful ones to drink the experimental potion. The results are gruesome, in varying levels. The skin bubbles off and exposes raw flesh on some, while others have developed shrivelled scales in all the wrong places.

Harry freezes- has it developed into some kind of Dragon-pox? He hasn’t been immunised.

The terror makes Harry raise his wand and cast his first Killing curse.

There’s green flying out of the wand, but it’s a pathetic wisp and does not work. Harry does not know if it’s because of the scales or his poor skill, but he _must kill the pox-thing before it kills him._

Panic flaring, he casts the curse again and again, failing miserably, before he is leaping back and covering his mouth- what if it _is_ pox? He can’t breathe that air. Oh, Merlin, what had Nott said? The Unforgivables need intent- and hatred- to work.

Breathing heavily, Harry clears the panic from his mind and focuses on intent.

Does he want to kill the afflicted Muggle? Yes, he does. Very much. Does he hate the Muggle? Yes, Muggles are vermin, breeding indiscriminately to infest the world. They are a threat to Magic. He considers it an honour to use Mother Magic’s gifts to defend her.

“Avada Kedavra.”

A blast of green shoots out of his wand and leaves him breathless.

Harry only realises the consequences of what he’s doing, much later. Mugging and disappearances are not new in Cokeworth- it’s a dingy little place and one side houses penurious blue-collar workers while the other side belongs to the country’s wanted (thieves, hooligans) and unwanted (beggars, diseased) citizens. But Harry’s been offing far too many Muggles, and now, there’s a poster near the Police box- the announcement of a new serial killer.

He has been disposing of the bodies using Incendio in a simple fire-containing ward- there’s no smoke, no remnants, and no chance of the fire spreading to blaze down the beautiful thicket. But still, there’s a chill setting in his bones, despite the summer heat.

It thrills him, the very act of defiance.

He mustn’t get caught.

..........................


	6. Chapter 6

Severus is shopping for groceries at the local supermarket in Cokeworth when he happens to chance across a very familiar face at the counter. It is Harry and he’s arguing with the woman at the counter. Severus stays where he can hear their conversation without being discovered.

The boy has only taken half-a-dozen eggs and a loaf of bread, but for the want of a few more coins, he cannot buy the eggs.

“Squabbling at supermarkets is unbecoming, Evans.” Severus says, and keeps the required pence pieces on the counter. Harry buys his bread and eggs, and is reluctantly following him. “An IOU note will not work in such retail stores.”

The boy is embarrassed, Severus notes, to be found in such a Muggle circumstance. The professor says nothing of the matter, and they walk together in uncomfortable silence until Severus splits off in the direction of Spinner’s End. Harry is surprised that Severus lives here in the summer.

Harry lives in Sootstack Line. It’s not very far from where the Evans family used to live.

They’re in the better side of Cokeworth, but Severus still warns Harry to be careful. There’s a serial killer around, after all.

In the safety of his home, Severus lets down his Occlumency shields. He tries not to think of Lily who’s just a few streets away. Lily, who he hasn’t seen in so many years, who hasn’t even owled him once after that terrible incident in their fifth year.

His hand seeks out the bottle of whisky in his cabinet, but he thinks better of it. Severus will not drink and end up like his father. Instead, he locks himself in his laboratory and works on stocking potions for the Dark Lord, as well as Hogwart’s Hospital Wing.

His mark rarely burns anymore; but when it does, it is for reporting to the unofficial ruler of Britain. The Dark Lord believes Severus to be in a position to cosy up to Dumbledore and gain information.

The war isn’t as obvious these days- other than the occasional attacks on Longbottom, the Death Eaters’ battle division is only used to discreetly quell any uprisings. Severus doesn’t know much about the Dark Lord’s other plans as full Inner Circle meetings are much rarer now. But there has been an increased number of foreign wizards visiting the Death Eater headquarters.

Severus suspects that the dark regime is slowly extending tendrils to other countries, poisoning them from within their ministries. He has told Dumbledore of this, and the old headmaster is gathering his contacts in the International Confederation, warning and advising them of what to look out for.

Every time Severus is out on the street, he keeps an eye open for Harry. There’s a killer around, someone who murders indiscriminately and randomly. There’s often news of disappearances: sometimes, entire families. It is within reason to suspect Death Eater activity- since the targeted are Muggles; Cokeworth has few wizards. Severus tightens the wards around his house, just as well. If he does see Harry, he will have to give the boy a subtle warning to do the same. The child is likely to be mistaken for a Muggleborn, and the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters are _merciless_ to their kind.

....................................

Harry goes shopping at Diagon Alley by himself. Of course, Lily takes him to the Leaky Cauldron, and then she heads to Mrs Jigger’s for work. He can see her in the afternoon when he comes to pick up his third-year potions kit.

Unlike Potions and Alchemy, Charms and Transfiguration masters cannot find employment easily. One cannot owl-order a spell. They have to either find work under someone or set up their own shop. However, the opportunities become more wide-ranged when it is mastery over spellwork that one can boast of. Artefact manufacturers, like broomsticks and Wizarding equipment, often look for those talented in the Charms field.

However, the case is different for Lily. There aren’t that many people willing to employ a publicly-disgraced Muggleborn witch. She seeks out jobs at Wiseacre’s, the trunk-makers, even Madam Primpernelle’s (the witch refuses to see anything after her name) and Gambol and Japes: they are impressed by her skills, but again, her status as James Potter’s cast-out wife rules against her favour.)

She has no choice than to stay at Mrs Jiggers, under the assumed name of Warren, and sell potions ingredients to people.

There’s a redheaded girl, face dotted with freckles, walking in with a bespectacled boy in tow.

“First year? She asks them with a smile, measuring out ingredients and placing them in the neatly labelled cubicles of the standard Hogwarts potions kit. The girl shakes her head, with a mumbled “M’ a second year.” Lily nods and gives her another kit.

The girl, who had to be a Weasley, pays in sickles. But the boy writes up on a Gringotts cheque. “Just owl this to the bank and have the money transferred to your account.” He grins cheekily and Lily freezes at the sight.

It’s Edwin Potter.

Her son.

With cold, trembling hands, she accepts the cheque and hands him the bill. When the two children are out of the store, Lily whispers an excuse to Mrs Jigger and hides out in the loo, crying.

Edwin is a beautiful mixture of her and James. He has the Potter’s signature mop of jet-black hair; but it is in curls like hers. The boy’s face has yet to lose its rounded baby-fat, but she can still see her mother’s soft jaw and nose through them. His eyes are a mischievous hazel, and he has James’ cocky smirk.

She has missed all his milestones- her last moments with him had been when Edwin was still a month-old babe, suckling at her breast.

It’s agony, seeing Edwin like this. All grown up and perfect. Fleamont Potter had made sure Lily could never see him again; that was part of the terms on the divorce. Lily had protested vehemently, but what was a no-name Muggleborn against the might of an old, noble Pureblood family with seats in the Wizengamot?

These are the times when Lily wishes she isn’t a Muggleborn. Of course, she loves her late-parents- they were the kindest, most loving people she has ever known, and she wouldn’t trade a life with them for the world- but they aren’t here now. They’ve gone to Heaven, and Lily’s all alone in this cruel, cold world.

Being born magical had made enemies out of even her own sister. She had hoped the Wizarding World could accept her; but no matter how pro-Muggle or sympathetic those in the Wizarding World seemed to be, she would never truly be one of their own.

Lily dries her tears and washes her face. She is ready to go out and man the counter like nothing has happened. (She has to.)

Harry will come see her in the afternoon.

........................................

Harry finds Nott loitering outside Scribbulus. It’s a pleasant surprise. They’ve both got their parchment and ink shrunk into their bags, and Nott tells him of Knockturn Alley.

One can find all sorts of forgotten or illegal things there.

Nott does not point out that Harry has a slightly terrifying, maniacal grin on his face- they’re going into a street where rousing terror keeps one safe. The first stop is a stall selling poisons in tiny vials for a sickle. Harry promptly wandlessly stuns the hag and uncorks a vial, sloshing and sniffing it.

He snorts. It’s poorly made poison- to thicken and clot blood in the veins. Part of his summer extra-credit projects have been to identify the fifty basic poisons that can be easily procured (doubtless, he has concocted and tested them all on Muggles to cross-check his essay, but Snape needn’t know that.) A bezoar can easily counter it, and so can a blood-draining curse (banned dark spell) and Harry isn’t impressed by Knockturn Alley.

Nott senses his scorn, and drags Harry into Borgin and Burke, the best Dark Artefact dealer in the alley.

The store is much better. There are cursed jewellery, delicate-looking equipment, ritual-charts and tomes of knowledge that make Harry nearly salivate- Alas! He cannot buy them.

Nott offers, and Harry is tempted to snub him with a curt ‘I don’t need your charity!’, but he thinks better of it. The price of Knowledge has always been steep. They browse on the shelves, and observes the Vanishing Cabinet and the Hand of Glory. There’s a set of ritual-charts that pique Harry’s interest- rituals are a long-forgotten art, capable of incredible feats of magic, and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how one looks at it) banned by the Ministry.

But there is one big problem with making purchases at Knockturn: there’s no assurance if they are real goods, or cheap knock-offs, or even intentionally tampered with.

The two boys are loitering at the back, where Harry is trying to sense anti-thief magic on the objects and the shop door, when the bell rings and Malfoy enters, followed by his father. The blond boy looks flushed with excitement; his father has finally brought him to Knockturn Alley. He goes around the shop, gazing longingly at the Hand of Glory and the collection of creature skulls when he sees Harry.

“You can get the same set cheaper at one of the hag-run apothecaries.” Harry says with a pleasant smile, discreetly dropping the charts onto their display.

Malfoy flinches, and then eases down on seeing that Harry is not armed with a knife and covered in blood. “Good morning, Evans.” He greets, and Harry acknowledges it with a nod. Borgin’s and Lord Malfoy’s voices are audible in the cramped silence of the shop.

“I’m afraid I cannot buy them at such short notice, Mr Malfoy.” Borgin’s unctuous voice was saying. “Especially since you require a man to be sent to pick them up.”

The other man sounds annoyed. “I’m offering to _pay you_ for taking them, Borgin.”

Malfoy supplies that the blasted Aurors are set to conduct a search of the Malfoy Manor, since a crate of illegal goods was discovered at Liverpool, set to be carted off to a Wiltshire address. The Dark Lord will do nothing to keep them out of the mess, because Lord Malfoy had been shipping the artefact on the behalf of his Lordship himself. He is being punished for letting it be discovered by the Aurors.

And besides, he likes the Ministry conducting regular raids on the houses of his most influential Death Eaters, to make the public think that they’re safe from dangerous dark wizards on the run.

Nott grimaces. His house has already been searched.

The voices at the counter become louder as Mr Borgin stubbornly refuses to accept the load of dark goods. The man is just trying to up the sale, when Harry has an idea. He steps out of the shadows and casts a Silencing Charm around himself and Lord Malfoy.

“If I may, Mr Malfoy, I know of a place suitable for hiding things that you would not want Aurors poking into.”

Lord Malfoy arches his aristocratic blond eyebrow. “And who might you be?”

Harry smiles, all teeth and fire. “My name is Evans. I doubt you’ve heard of me, and that is precisely why I’m offering.” When the man says nothing, he elaborates. “If you have not heard of me, then why would you assume the Aurors have? We have no ties, Mr Malfoy, and I’m a poor Muggleborn student. Why would the Aurors consider me your accomplice?”

Upon the revelation, the Death Eater’s nose wrinkles, as if he had suddenly stepped on dung. Harry’s eyes gleam when the man sneers. “I’m offering you a space to hide your questionable goods. That’s it.”

Lucius Malfoy has not maintained his position as the poison-in-chief of the Ministry by leaping into conclusions and pretty deals. “What makes you think I require the help of a Mudblood?”

Harry merely stares back challengingly. Two can play this game.

The blond aristocrat rubs his chin thoughtfully. “And what, pray, do _you_ get out of this?”

The boy smiles- he has been waiting for this question. “Well, I was hoping I could take a look at the artefacts in question... You do realise being Muggleborn is terribly detrimental to my growth as a Dark Wizard?”

The Malfoy patriarch is stumped for a moment, although he hastily covers up the slip. No doubt, it is because Harry is not a typical low-blooded person. The man ponders on the offer for a little longer before regarding Harry with a piercing look. “Very well. What are your terms?”

“I will provide you with a safe location, where you may cast whatever the required protection and Muggle-Repelling charms are. You must grant me access to whatever goods that you store in the location, and in return, you have my word that I will not reveal the location to anyone, Magic or Muggle.”

The phrasing irks Lord Malfoy, but he is composed. “You will reveal to _no entity,_ by any means- and I require it in oath.”

Harry agrees, and then demands of the Malfoy patriarch that he reveal to no entity, by any means, the happenings of this transaction, and Harry’s identity. The aristocrat is torn, and Harry remembers that the man serves the Dark Lord. He is suddenly glad that he has demanded the oath in kind.

Lord Malfoy looks shifty as he ushers Harry away from the murky windows, magically pulling down the blinds and making the room darker and all the more gloomy. They repeat their oaths in urgent whispers- Merlin, the man must be desperate- and shake hands, feeling the magic settle. Malfoy hastily wipes his hand and pulls on his gloves.

They both are not stupid to make an Unbreakable Oath, and Harry steps back, satisfied.

“I will owl you the locations and time. Meet me there and cast the protections before you shift your belongings. They will be returned at a date agreeable to us both.”

“What of our- ah, witnesses?” Malfoy asks.

“I will take care of them. You needn’t worry.”

The man pulls out his wand from the cane and cancels the Silencing Charm. The sounds from the alley return, as well as the creaking of a rusty chandelier on the ceiling of the shop. Borgin is at the counter with an unreadable expression on his face.

With a twirl, Lord Malfoy tucks his silver-tipped cane under his arm, turning to leave. “I no longer require your services on this matter, Borgin.” He beckons his son, and Malfoy Jr hurries after his father. The Death Eater pauses at the door and looks back.

Borgin looks like a cat who’s had his cream stolen. Harry smirks in satisfaction and raises his wand at the man. “Obliviate.” Lord Malfoy nods curtly and leaves.

Memories erased, Borgin is put to sleep with another charm, and Harry quietly pockets the ritual charts and exits the shop, and a bewildered Nott tags behind.

.......................................


	7. Chapter 7

Striding out of Knockturn Alley, Harry glances at Nott. The boy is bursting with questions, but he has been trained well by his Death Eater father to hold his tongue when required. Harry warns him to speak to no one of the incident. He believes Nott when the boy nods briskly and promises to not mention it to his father; but Harry has already connected a tongue-tying hex to the memory and cast it on both Nott and Malfoy Jr.

Prevention is always better than cure.

He has no doubt that a powerful wizard like the Dark Lord can break the hex and extract memories from the boys, but if the spell worked, any thought straying close to the memory would be prevented from escaping their lips. Besides, Lord Malfoy seems capable of controlling his son.

They head to Flourish and Blotts to pick up the new defence text- Lockhart had been asked to work full-time as an editor at Vane & Glorius, the publishing company that released the Lockhart books and magazines like Witch Weekly and Vixen Vogue. (Harry has mixed emotions to the news: Lockhart was useless as a Defence teacher, but he had taught Harry many other, important things. And the man had also been a free pass to the restricted section whenever Harry wanted it, honestly, the benefits outweighed the liabilities. Harry has promised to write the man often, especially for advice in clothing and cosmetics.)

The sight of the cage containing ‘The Monster Book of Monsters’ has them stopping in their tracks, horrified. “What in the name of Mother Magic is that?” Nott swears.

Nott is not taking Care of Magical Creatures. Harry, however, is not so lucky. He buys a length of rope from the nearest junk shop and secures his Monster Book from all directions before proceeding to look for other textbooks. He’s taking Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Nott gapes at his workload- but Harry is the best scoring student in his year (narrowly beating Granger with his better Potions score) and Snape has let him take the electives.

Speak of the devil, there’s Granger and her parents, piling books into Granger’s cart.

Harry feels a flash of resentment, before he crushes it. He will take being poor over being a Muggleborn any day. Still, he approaches the family discreetly, peering into the cart, and is surprised at the titles. The girl is taking all five electives, it seems, even Muggle Studies.

“Oh, Evans! Hello!” Harry hides his irritation on being spotted and turns to the approaching Hufflepuff.

“Good morning, Abbott. What can I do for you?”

Hannah Abbott flushes and asks about his electives, not very surprised that he’s taking four. The girl is friends with Granger, and knows all about their rivalry. Most of the students in their year find it funny that neither of their top-scorers are in Ravenclaw. It’s rare, and there used to be bets placed throughout the last two years, on which of them would come first. The wagers have decreased significantly, but his and Granger’s increased workload is sure to spark another bout of gambling.

It is irritating to speak to air-headed girls about irrelevant things, but Harry holds his temper in check, plastering on a Lockhart-worthy smile and listens. When Nott calls him, it is a relief, and Harry excuses himself, watching the Abbott girl amble on towards Granger.

Nott seems to be fretful. He points to a man with terrible bed-head at the counter; a young boy with similar hair by his side. It is James Potter and his offspring.

There’s another flash of hatred that Harry has to bite down. He would like to run his knife over Potter like reading a book- back and forth, back and forth. Nott drags him out before people can notice his livid, mad look.

“I thought you might want to see,” Nott begins, pointing at the son. “He’s going to start Hogwarts this year. I thought it best if you got over the unpleasant surprise before we go there. Your perfect Prince-Charming reputation is going to be in shambles otherwise.”

Harry nodded, biting his lips. “Potter is nothing more to me that a man who ruined my mother’s life.”

...................................

Lucius Malfoy is in the middle of breakfast with Narcissa and Draco when he hears a rapping on the glass windows. Normally, owls are redirected to his study; except for emergency missives and notes. He opens the window with a wave of his cane, and a bird hops onto the table.

Draco spits out his jug of pumpkin juice.

Lucius narrows his eyes at the ill-mannered display, which his son immediately corrects. He then turns his gaze at the bird, if it could be called as such.

It is the most grotesque thing he has laid eyes on- some kind of hybrid between a few birds and a bat, from the looks of it- although the creature is flashing through colours faster than Lucius’ eye can follow. Occasionally, the colour settles to an ashen black and ruffles of brown, before jumping into something bizarre, like pink and yellow stripes.

If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed it Dumbledore’s bird. But the bird is not a phoenix. It opens its snout and makes a horrible, bat-like screech, outstretching one clawed leg into Lucius’ plate. There’s a note, and the bird waits for him to untie it before taking off without a reply.

It’s a small scroll of Muggle paper. _‘Today, half past four, Railview Hotel, Cokeworth.’_

The Malfoy patriarch does not know where the town is, but he is proficient enough to apparate to unknown locations. It is the quality of the paper that tells him who the note is from. He promptly memorises the address and burns the slip.

The daily schedule has to be cleared to fit in time for the appointment. Four ‘o’ clock arrives, and Lucius concentrates on the address and apparates.

Cokeworth is a mass of dull greys and browns. Long chimney stacks puff out black smoke irregularly, and a grilled fence cuts off the road’s end from the railway line. The hotel is small too, and doesn’t look very clean; Lucius automatically raises the hem of his robes from being dirtied.

“Very punctual, Mr Malfoy.” A voice drawls, and it is the Mudblood.

Lucius grimaces. “Did you specifically choose this location to showcase the filthy squalor of Muggles?”

The boy shrugged. “Wizards are highly unlikely to snoop around a place like this. Did you ask around at the Ministry about me? If you have, all this will be for naught.”

“Of course not.” Lucius sneers. “Now where is this... safe house?”

The boy grins unpleasantly. “It’s not exactly a house, per se. Just a place not-so-infested by Muggles that your Highness may survive checking up on your goods. We’ll have to walk a bit from here, though.”

Evans casts a disillusionment on himself, and Lucius copies him. He follows Harry, although he is incensed at having been insulted in every sentence the Mudblood has spoken. Evans takes him through rows of houses with blackened walls and grimy streets, until there’s a turn and then a thicket.

“Here.” Evans says, gesturing to the woods around them. “You can hide whatever you want here; only kids and stray animals ever come in here; that should be taken care of with a Muggle-repelling charm.”

Lucius takes in the space- they’re surrounded by trees, and it’s sufficiently hidden from the outside world. He starts to cast protective enchantments- the kind used by Purebloods to ward their holiday homes and other minor property. A basic shield that could absorb stray spells, a Confundus and a well-practised compulsion to turn away, Muggle-repellent charms, a silencing ward, alarms and a shield specifically against fires (since it’s a forest.) The boy seems to be intensely watching every enchantment he makes, presumably noting down the spells.

“Also,” The boy adds as an afterthought, “you might want to make a few enchantments against powerful wizards. “I’ve seen Snape lurking around Cokeworth.”

Lucius curses before he can hold his tongue. “And you did not think to tell me this?” Lucius does trust Severus (enough to make the man Draco’s Godfather) and yet; in the face of the Dark lord, one can never be too cautious. Severus must never come across this hiding-spot.

He casts stronger wards; but with great caution: for stronger the magic, the easier it is to detect it. Lucius knows that Severus lives in some disgusting Muggle hovel- his childhood home, if Narcissa is to be believed. Cokeworth does look like the kind of place a drunk factory worker could settle with his family.

“My payment, Mr Malfoy.” Evans reminds him, and Lucius sighs before adding the boy to the wards. He intends to wait, apparently, for Lucius to return with the contraband.

The goods to be hidden are dark artefacts, books and illegal potions ingredients (mostly. There’s also heirlooms that the Dark Lord has given to him for safekeeping, but the Mudblood needn’t know that. Lucius had initial fears that he would be questioned about the contents of his crates, but the boy seems to be satisfied with looking through them. Some of them are cursed, and he doesn’t warn the brat. Hopefully, he will touch one of the items with lethal curses and die.

..............................

Lord Malfoy leaves, and Harry is free to go through the treasures of an old Pureblood family. He finds delicate spinning instruments to measure storms and track astral cycles, as well as basins of unidentifiable liquids. There are so many books- not just Dark Arts, but erased history, banned rituals, and a vellum herbology guide that seems to deal with more of crossbreeding for defence than the relatively safe plants that Professor Sprout deals with.

The summer is very productive. The crossed crow (newly christened Mephistopheles) has been improved upon, and has taken to following Harry around. He doesn’t use Mephisto to send mail yet, for he does not want the bird to be recognised. Instead, he climbs the roof at night to catch one of the owls, and after a scuffle, has a relatively plain-looking barn owl for sending ordinary mail.

His potions experiments progress to various impromptu recipes which tend to explode the basement more often than not; and rarely yields great discoveries.

However, rat poison seems to react well with natural resin, ashwinder eggs and pickled dirigible plums, simmered to a thick consistency to create a tar-like sludge that rapidly solidifies into granite-hardness. It is then tested on a beggar- his teeth and fingers have to be ripped off to free him from his spilled ‘black coffee.’ The substance is odourless, but can also be mixed with harmless fragrances.

The substance is taken to Knockturn Alley to be sold when Harry follows Lily to her work one day.

Harry is proud- Rock Jelly (inspired by the Hogwarts gamekeeper’s rock-cakes) has enough demand to set him up with a small profit that he spends in Willard’s Innards Store for a fresh cadaver. Malfoy’s collection has a few books on necromancy, and Harry cannot wait to try them out.

Borgin’s ritual charts have errors, which he learns to correct with the help of tomes on Lost Rituals. A Moonlighting ritual is set up on a super-moon night, and Harry transfers a magic circle into the ground by burning lines of powdered vitriol. The cadaver is placed at the centre, anointed in fresh liver oil, and Harry tries his first attempt at raising an inferius.

It fails horribly, of course.

There is backlash, and Harry is blasted out of the circle. The cadaver is a charred crisp, and the grass around it is severely burnt. Harry coughs and sits up, wondering how he was going to explain his injuries to Lily when he went down for breakfast. He’s supposed to be asleep right now.

This is how Lord Malfoy finds Harry, with burns and a fresh gash across his cheek, sitting beside front of a ruined and smoking cadaver, and smelling of sulphurous fumes.

To say the man is shocked is an understatement. The aristocrat stumbles upon arrival, casts a bubble-head charm and stalks to Harry.

“Figured I’d give necromancy a go.” Harry shrugs.

Malfoy shakes his head and lets him off with a warning- a good number of these artefacts belong to the Dark Lord; handle with caution. The man retrieves a crystal globe with spindly golden pins marking them, and apparates away.

The aristocrat has also pointed out a book for his reference. It is about glamours; something Lily has deliberately not shown him. Harry owls Nott for the book the moment he sets foot in his bedroom, and then proceeds to quietly wash away the blood and dirt. The burns look raw- they’re magical and will not be as easily removed as normal ones.

In the morning, he sneaks into a Muggle household nearby and steals a bottle of make-up foundation to cover his injuries. Nothing can be done about the gash on his face- it will have to be magically healed.

Lily is enraged, of course, and Harry spins a not-so-believable lie about falling in the shower. The burns are hidden under a long-sleeved shirt, which isn’t unusual because Harry prefers them, and after coaxing another glib and believable lie out of his mouth (that he experimented with combining Diffindo and Depulso at night) his mother tasks him with chores and takes away his experimenting privileges for a week.

It merely puts a hamper on his Potions work. The other experiments take place under the guise of ‘taking a stroll’ or ‘going to the park’ and Lily will not stop him from going out. She feels that Harry spends far too much time cooped up in the house, and that a little fresh air and company will do him good.

Harry does not protest; he merely nods meekly, and magicks the house into cleaning itself and reads one of the Charms journals.

On the way out, Harry ventures into Spinners’ End, searching for Snape’s house. He is sure the man will have a salve; perhaps, for a favour, he might lend Harry some.

.......................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept writing and forgot to post.


	8. Chapter 8

Severus is back from his weekly shopping for groceries and toiletries when he spots Harry loitering shiftily around his house. The boy has sharp senses, if he can feel the wards hiding the house. He beckons Harry inside and demands to know why the boy’s behaving like an antisocial.

However, a favour is not what Severus expects to hear. The boy shows him his injuries- there are burns and wounds, all magical, and asks for a salve.

The potions master quickly scans the wounds- thankfully, they aren’t made by Dark Magic. There’s a special paste in his stores for curse-wounds, made especially for the aftermath of the Dark Lord’s idea of a ‘fun night’. Severus applies it liberally on Harry’s injuries, and proceeds to question the boy on how he acquired them.

Harry hesitates, and speaks about his experiments. Apparently, the boy was trying to combine multiple spells and it backfired, laying waste to his bedroom.

Severus stops him, regarding the brat with narrowed eyes. “You aren’t allowed to do magic outside school.”

Harry grins back, completely unapologetic. “Mum’s got wards to keep the Muggles unaware of her research. She’s doing her Charms Mastery.” He clarifies. “And besides, if rich, spoilt brats like Malfoy and Zabini get to practice inside their mansion wards, why can’t I?”

Severus doesn’t answer, but he puts his groceries into the pantry. “You do realise I’m a Hogwarts Professor?”

“Term hasn’t started, _Professor._ You can’t dock points off Slytherin. Not that you would do it anyway.”

The dour man scowls at the jab and seizes Harry by the collar, prepared to throw him out. Then he thinks better of it, and tosses the boy into the living room. “You owe me a favour, yes? Make yourself useful and sort out these books. Author, subject and title- alphabetically. No wands allowed.”

Harry grins at him, showing off those pretty little Lockhart teeth. It infuriates Severus.

The four walls are covered in shelves, stacked to the ceiling with books. Severus smirks; that will be adequate punishment. When he returns from his dinner, he sees the snooty brat grouping and _levitating_ the books into his shelves.

Wandlessly.

Severus gapes, and Harry gives him a smug wink. The bookshelves are arranged in half-an-hour, and Harry asks if he’ll share the formula for the salve. The potions master spits out his refusal and the boy sulks before leaving.

Wandless magic, at age thirteen?

‘Merlin help me’, Severus thinks, and sinks into the couch with a shot of brandy.

Later, he’s drunk enough to stumble out of the floo in Lucius’ study and collapse on an armchair. Lucius is startled; but oddly enough, at the mention of ‘Evans’, the man brings a bottle of Ogden’s Olde and they drink some more.

Severus tells him how the boy’s showing wandless magic, and the blond man doesn’t seem to be as surprised. Lucius eggs him on with the firewhisky to reveal more about the boy, and Severus suddenly stops recounting the boy’s duel with Granger.

“Why are you so interested?” Severus slurs.

Lucius looks away, into the fireplace. “My son won’t stop talking about him. Is it true, that he’s the Potter bastard?”

Severus nods. “Doesn’t behave like one, though.”

Lucius agrees, and nurses his tumbler. “Intriguing, that one. I though he was a Mudblood when I saw him in Diagon Alley.”

“Don’t use- that word.” The potions master bites out, and finishes his glass.

They are both quite inebriated, but Severus is confident in his Occlumency shields that he can get drunk in front of Lucius without letting anything important slip. When Severus reaches to pour himself another glass, he finds that the bottle and the tumblers have disappeared, and in its place stands a disgruntled Narcissa Malfoy.

Lucius drunkenly greets his wife.

“I thought you didn’t want to end up like your father?” She asks Severus.

Lucius waves her off. “Certain occasions require alcohol to- ah, wash away the unpleasantness. We were talking about the Mud- Muggleborn,” he amends when Severus swats at him, “who has Dragon so infatuated these days.” He’s blinking at her, and gazing at the candelabra instead, and Narcissa summons two Sobering Draughts from her husband’s liquor cabinet, before sending Severus to his room in the Manor.

Severus wakes up at the Malfoy Manor, and for a moment, he draws blank as to why he’s there. Then he recalls the disastrous meeting with Harry and groans. The rest of the day is spent brooding over his brews. Eventually, he thinks of going out to catch the boy and tell him off for flamboyantly displaying his wandless magic. It is dangerous, especially if it reaches the ears of the Dark Lord.

Term begins at the start of September, and Severus watches the First Years get sorted. He spots a mess of black hair and realises there’s a proper Potter brat right there. The boy, quite characteristically, gets sorted into Gryffindor within moments. Severus’ gaze seeks out Harry, to see how the other boy’s taking in this revelation about his brother. Whispers have already broken across the hall.

The Slytherin red-head looks unimpressed, if a little bored. He whispers something to Nott and they keep their eyes trained evenly on the Sorting ceremony, much to the disappointment of the school’s gossipmongers.

The very next day, Severus has classes with the first year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. They squirm under his towering, dark presence, until he catches Edwin Potter whispering into the ears of his sidekick, Wolpert. They giggle, and Severus is _not_ amused.

“Care to share what you find more interesting than this class, Mr Potter?”

Potter looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Then he blusters on with a cocky smile: “I know who you are.”

Severus raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And who, pray, am I?” He challenges.

“You’re Greasy Snivellous.” The boy has found his bearings, and grins widely. “My dad told me.”

Severus sees red. He lunges to grab the insolent cretin by the collar, and barely restrains himself. “Get out of my class!”

Potter has the presence of mind to realise he has overdone it, and seizes his bag, fleeing from the dungeons. The students are laughing behind their palms, and it echoes of similar laughs from twenty years ago. Severus beats down on the little imbeciles worse and makes sure that no one will have the nerve to insult him in his own class ever again. When the bell rings, first years can be seen bolting out of the dungeons, shaking like leaves in the wind.

But the damage is done; he catches whispers of ‘Greasy Snivellous’ in the corridors and hallways.

Potter must have a death-wish.

....................................

Hermione Granger is walking back from Greenhouse Four with Hannah and Neville when they come upon the confrontation between Evans and the first year, Edwin Potter. It’s common knowledge by now, that Evans is the product of a failed marriage between James Potter, a wealthy Pureblood, and a Muggleborn mother. Potter divorced her soon after, keeping one child as his heir while rejecting the older one. It’s a classic Cinderella story, but without the happily-ever-after.

Hermione supposes she feels some pity for Evans and his mother- they’re looked down upon for no fault of their own. (Honestly, divorce oughtn’t be such a scandal, Hermione thinks furiously. And it’s just plain unfair that it’s the Muggleborn woman who suffers because of it.) While Evans is infuriating with his smug answers and holier-than-thou attitude, no one deserves to be insulted by their own brother.

The kind of insults that come out of Edwin Potter’s mouth are horrible, but phrased charmingly enough to sound hilarious. Evans doesn’t react, but the grim set of his jaw reveals that he’s not pleased.

Hannah, being naturally sweet and kind, wants to rush to the boy’s defence, but is stopped by Parvati and Lavender. They all have a crush on Evans, but Potter is- influential. And besides, the Gryffindors want to see a slimy Slytherin being put in his place.

“Who wants to see me take off Hairy’s trousers?” Potter asks, and Ron Weasley chuckles uncharitably from behind them. There’s a good number of Gryffindors- Seamus, Ginny Weasley and Nigel Wolpert included, who are peering at the mayhem as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The Slytherin looks like he wants to curse the life out of Potter, but is reining it behind a thin veneer of politeness.

Suddenly, without warning, Evans is hanging upside down, his robes falling over his head. He bucks and kicks in surprise, while Wolpert levitates the threadbare trousers off to reveal pale, skinny legs and old, dull grey pants.

Colin Creevey snaps pictures with his camera, while Seamus thumps Potter on the back in congratulations. “Ooh, looks like Hairy’s actually hairless. I suppose we should change your name, eh, Brother-dearest?”

There’s laughter- cruel and loud, and Hermione cannot take it anymore- she pulls out her wand to put a stop to it, but Evans is faster.

His wand sticks out from under the upside-down robes, and suddenly, Potter is a large heap of smelly dung, the Weasleys are carrots, Seamus is a skunk and so on. A dozen children have been transfigured into various demeaning items, and Hermione’s alarmed to see that a pair of rats have already begun to nibble on the carrots.

A few girls come running, McGonagall behind them, while Crabbe has been sent by the Slytherin third-years to bring Snape from the dungeons.

“What is the meaning of this?” The transfigurations professor asks sternly.

“Evans transfigured them, Professor!” A first-year pipes up, and the professor looks outraged. The students give a wide berth when Professor Snape comes swooping out of the dungeons like an evil vampire. His sallow face contorts into an ugly snarl as he waves his wand, and Evans falls to the ground. The boy straightens up and gazes evenly and unapologetically back at the professors.

It looks like he isn’t about to say anything, so the deputy Headmistress turns to Hermione. She tells them the full story, and flinches when the sour Potions Master’s face begins to darken, while Professor McGonagall waves her wand to undo the transfiguration on the children.

One by one, the children pop into existence- Wolpert and the Weasleys, sporting deep, bite-shaped wounds, while Colin Creevey spits out a mouthful of flesh, horrified.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin.” McGonagall says, vanishing the spat-out blood. “Mr Finnegan, Mr Thomas, kindly take those three to the Hospital Wing.” Her lips have thinned enough to be barely visible. “And detention, Mr Evans.”

“I’m not sorry, Professor.” Evans replies.

“Human transfiguration,” the professor begins with a steely tone, “Is a very dangerous business. Not only have you used magic in the corridors, you have _injured_ three children with your recklessness. I expect an essay from you on retaliating to harmless pranks with dangerous magic. And please report to the Groundskeeper’s hut at eight this evening for your detention.”

Evans nods once, and the professor is satisfied. She dismisses the children and leaves, but Professor Snape is still scowling and standing there. For a moment, Hermione’s afraid that he’s going to assign Evans a detention too.

But then Snape turns away with a smirk and a billow of his robes. “Twenty points to Slytherin for the successful human-transfiguration, Evans.” And then he’s gone, and Hermione cannot conceal her disbelief.

That biased, greasy bat!

Confrontations between Edwin Potter and Harry Evans continue on a less public scale. The younger boy, despite knowing only a few basic spells, intends to put his bastard brother in place, and show him who the real Potter heir is. But Evans is no longer caught unawares. The Slytherin is always prepared, and by the time Potter has drawn his wand, the younger boy is already disarmed, bound with conjured ropes, and a tongue-tying hex cast on him.

This does not faze Potter- he continues to talk, uttering filthy, alliterative rhymes about Evans’ parentage and house. The Gryffindor boys find it hilarious; and Potter is a celebrity in the house- the only person who can actually deal with Evans’ unstoppable charm. The boy’s status in the house of lions shoots up even more when he lands himself the position of Gryffindor’s youngest seeker mid-season, and wins the match against Hufflepuff.

For being the incumbent Quidditch star’s bastard brother, Evans isn’t half-bad on a broomstick; but the boy prefers other activities.

Like continuing to one-up Hermione in Runes and Arithmancy. It seems to be a gift- being a natural in grasping theory- because she has never once seen the boy studying, and it is outrageous.

..................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake:
> 
> 9 year old Edwin Potter: Dad, dad! C'mon, teach me a spell! (waving James' wand)  
> Prongs: I showed you how to make sparks, didn't I?  
> Edwin: (eyerolls) A *real* spell, dad. Please?
> 
> (Prongs is considering teaching a spell, while Moony goes on a rant about how children shouldn't be handling their parents' wands. Enter Padfoot, a little drunk, inappropriately so, considering that it's midday)
> 
> Padfoot: Have you heard of a little charm called Levicorpus? (winks)  
> (Prongs grins and thumps his friend happily, because Levicorpus is a 'harmless and perfectly safe' prank spell with the added bonus of being nonverbal, so no one will know who cast it.)  
> \------------
> 
> I headcannon that Levicorpus, despite being nonverbal, doesn't require much trained magic- OotP and HBP both show that it was all the rage at Hogwarts during the Marauders era, which a powerful spell definitely couldn't have been- so it would have likely been one of the very first spells that James Potter taught his pestering progeny.
> 
> If it were Snape, what do you reckon would be the first spell he teaches his offspring?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Fucking mayhem
> 
> I don't usually curse, but I have no idea how else to describe what I've written in this chapter.

Close to Christmas, the Divination Professor, Trelawney’s ‘predictions’ become more dramatic and insufferable, and she goes into hysterics upon seeing Neville’s crystal ball break. That is one subject where Hermione sits at the very back, beside Evans, and the boy whispers abuse at Trelawney into her ear, and they both chuckle conspiratorially into their cups of tea.

It is uncharacteristic of her to insult teachers, but Trelawney is a complete and utter fraud. She wonders on what basis the Headmaster even hired the witch in the first place.

Trelawney hobbles over to their table and asks her to read Harry with the crystal ball. Hermione frowns and peers into the smoky ball, seeing nothing but a lot of blackish fog. Unsatisfied with Hermione’s weak answer, Trelawney pushes her to the side to peer into the ball.

And promptly screams, jumping back, crashing into the table behind her.

“Monster! Murderer!” The woman cries, shaking pathetically. She’s pointing at Harry, who is leaning back on his armchair with a bemused smile. Hermione cautiously approaches the witch, and is rewarded with a slap from flailing, bony arms. “Beware of him- the Dark Lord!”

Evans laughs like it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. He snaps his _Unfogging the Future_ shut, and stuffs it into Trelawney’s hands. The professor flings the book back and crawls away from him, as if seared.

That’s it for Hermione. She cannot take any more of the woman’s garbage. The girl swings her bag on her shoulders and gives the fallen crystal ball a kick. Still laughing, Harry copies her, picking up his own bag.

“We’re not coming back here again. Bye!” Evans winks, slamming the classroom’s trapdoor shut.

After that, it’s mayhem. They can hear Trelawney’s cries, and the students scrambling to calm her, the noise ringing down from the rickety ladder.

Hermione bursts into giggles when she finds the ball she kicked at the foot of the tower. Evans leans against the baluster, hands shoved into his pockets and grinning. “Wow, that went well.”

“Yes, it did.”

“Well, what do we do now? We have half an hour to spare before Runes.” He twirls a familiar-looking golden hourglass hung around his neck. “Library?”

They end up going to Hagrid’s hut to discuss beast-trade. Hermione thinks it’s an awful line of work, but Hagrid’s stories of bartering Acromantula eggs for a baby Razorback Turtle does sound interesting, and they thank Hagrid for the tea before running back to the Greenhouses (for Evans) and Charms (for her).

At the end of the day, Hermione can understand why people like Hannah and Parvati are heads over heels for him. Evans may be a Slytherin, sly and sarcastic, but he has a magnetic charm (quite like Lockhart, if she thinks about it), has never called her a Mudblood (“Muggleborn mother, remember?” He replies when she points it out) and is decent company to Hagrid, when the likes of Malfoy or even Smith think that the half-giant is beneath their notice.

Speaking of Malfoy- he has gotten into trouble with a hippogriff on his very first class with Hagrid, and is threatening to sue the man over it. The blond prat has a Hogwarts governor for a father, who is petitioning for the execution of the creature. Hermione has promised Hagrid to look up laws and loopholes for Buckbeak’s defence.

....................................

Harry breaks his quill in his rage.

That hag Trelawney! She has given the game away, and Harry will have to do so much more work to discredit the fraud. There are people stupid enough to believe her, and if Nott is to be believed, the old Headmaster is someone to watch out for.

Perhaps, he should pay her a visit with a bouquet of Crucios? He certainly hated her enough for them to work beautifully. Or maybe, the new Skinning charm would be better?

“Don’t.” Nott says from his bed, and Harry turns to look at him. Can the boy read minds? “You look like you’re itching to kill someone.” He clarifies. Harry winces and shuts his bed-curtains.

He begins to polish his knives to relax himself, and ponders on the next course of action. Dropping divination was a wise move- at least there won’t be any repeat performances of his ‘Dark Lordyness’ ingrained into his classmates’ brains.

The repair-work should be subtle and in character- before Dumbledore or McGonagall suspect anything. Perhaps, more friendliness?

No- too obvious.

Random acts of kindness? Yes, perhaps. He’s already known to be a favourite student of Hagrid, courtesy of detentions well-spent. Granger is much friendlier to him now, he sometimes has casual conversation with the Golden Boy, Longbottom, and his little girlfriend. What more...?

Ensnare the Weaselette? Get a Services to the School trophy? Make Potter Sr proud? Urgh.

A forbidden thought came across his mind- seduce Dumbledore?

Harry quickly burnt that image out of his head and shuddered. While it would be amusing to lead that self-professed Merlin-reincarnate down the path of paedophilic scandal, he didn’t want to risk it backfiring to reveal Harry’s true intentions. There are rumours that, along with being ridiculously powerful, Dumbledore can also read minds.

For now, he will wait and watch the reactions of the students and teachers, and then decide his next course of action.

But patching up aside, Harry’s dying to punish the fraudulent seer.

While the time-turner could normally provide an alibi, he and Granger are the only two people in the castle to have one. Suspicion is most likely to be directed onto them- so he cannot use it. Perhaps he can poison her sherry? One of the slow-acting ones in Moste Potent Potions would work; as long as it’s not obvious enough for Trelawney to approach Snape or Dumbledore.

He pulls out Mephisto from his wardrobe and enlarges the bird, ordering a supply of saffron and cinnabar from Orion’s Ores, a trusted, but shady alchemical supply shop in Knockturn Alley. They’re harmless enough to not be detected by the school’s wards.

Harry’s busy plotting when Draco Malfoy and his two goons walk into the dorm: “You two missed dinner.” He tells Nott, and pulls Harry’s bed-curtains open.

Harry’s polishing the carving knife.

Malfoy yelps and hides behind Goyle until he’s assured that Harry’s just polishing it, not carving some poor creature up. He then stands on shaking knees- “They’re saying you’re the Dark Lord.”

Harry snorts, and the knife accidentally cuts his palm. “I intend to have a witch’s head on my wall,” he says, lapping up the blood. “Trelawney’s a good choice, don’t you think?” He’s in a bad mood, but the blond is hilariously easy to rile up.

Malfoy blusters up his bravado and accuses, “You’re not the Dark Lord. He can talk to snakes.”

Smirking, Harry reaches into his trunk and pulls out a stunned adder, and makes creepy hissy noises while slitting it in two with a knife. Malfoy blanches, and backs away to the door, which Harry wandlessly locks shut. He is promptly disarmed and bound with an Incarcerous. The boy falls to his knees, tears running down his cheeks as Harry looms closer and drops the dead snake-halves into his lap.

“Please- My lord, please,” Malfoy begs. He’s a sobbing mess, and Harry runs his blood-stained fillet knife along the blond’s pointy jaw, and down his neck. “Don’t kill me.”

Harry tips the boy’s chin with the knife. “I’m not the Dark Lord, you dolt.”

The frightened grey eyes look up and Harry pats the boy’s head. “Although, I wouldn’t mind being called ‘Milord’- has a nice ring, don’t you think?” He vanishes the ropes, and the boy desperately clings onto his knees, as if that would get him mercy.

“My Lord, my Lord, milord-”

Harry breaks off Malfoy’s witless chanting and sends him to bed. The events have sent him into a power-rush that he cannot get rid of easily. He slips out of the dorm-room and heads to another empty classroom.

He uses the body of the slain adder to attempt a ritual on another mouse: the transfer of Parseltongue. He has heard of the present Dark Lord’s ability- it is a skill that can be researched on. And if the trait is truly genetic, as they say, then it can be isolated with Muggle science and embedded into other people.

When the ritual fails, Harry finds another Harry walking out of the cabinet. It isn’t very surprising- ever since he dropped divination, he’s been making as much use of the time-turner as he could. The device will most likely be taken away from him at the end of the year, and he needs to find ways to replicate it, or create an alternative before that deadline.

The other Harry doesn’t acknowledge him. It isn’t surprising- a lesson well learnt.

He had started out intending to use two versions of the same brilliant mind to bounce ideas back and forth, and had spoken to his double for an hour before using the Time-turner to go back an hour. The first hour was fun. And then, Harry discovered how boring it is to repeat a dialogue he had heard only moments ago. The loop ends when the old Harry vanishes in front of him.

It isn’t an illuminating conversation at all.

He attempts to make three or four loops, with multiples of himself, and realised the more the loops, the more redundant the conversation. Ever since, he has left each Harry to do his (their?) individual project.

A brief thought is spared to imagine Snape walking in to find five Harrys sitting in their own respective cubicles, working away. It is funny.

And when he’s tired, he returns to the dorm, spells his curtains shut and sleeps, settling a quiet alarm for five hours. Four hours later, he wakes, uses the time-turner to go back, and climbs into the bed beside his other self. Often, Harry has woken up to find another Harry cuddling him- it’s nice, sharing a bed with himself.

After all, he’s the only person he can trust completely. He can be himself around himself.

The cinnabar and saffron arrive, early one morning, and Harry spends the afternoon grinding them to fine dust. There’s only a bit of cinnabar as opposed to the large amounts of saffron, and he distils them into a fine concentrate.

Trelawney receives an early Christmas present from ‘Lavender Brown’ and ‘Parvati Patil’: it’s a bottle full of saffron essence; the girls have always been lovely to her, bless their little hearts. They giggle and tell her to use no more than a teaspoon a day- it’s rather concentrated- and hurries out of the Divination tower, lest they miss the train. It’s sweet of them, and Trelawney carefully measures a teaspoon into her finest tea, (she always hogs the best teas for herself; no need to spend her hard-earned money on ungrateful children) adds the milk and savours the flavour.

It is delicious.

Back in the Slytherin Dorm, two Harrys remove their glamours and go their separate ways.

The holidays approach, and Nott is staying back, as usual, and they get the dorms to themselves. The other boy is utterly dumbstruck when twenty Harrys occupy the room, and work on their individual projects. He isn’t surprised, however, that there’s a time-turner involved.

The Harrys stay throughout Yule- when one vanishes, another one pops into existence, some sleep while others work- and finally Nott corners a Harry (it’s actually more difficult when there are so many copies of the same person doing different things) and tells him it’s very unhealthy, dependent behaviour.

Harry replies that he has to make the most of these holidays, when he has the time-turner with him.

And the many Harrys get hungry as many times, so the first of their successful innovations is a food-preservation box to multiply and keep fresh any food kept in it- as long as there is a little something to replicate. The next is a set of magical extension charms- for there are twenty-one occupants in a dorm room meant for six. The charms are cast to expand the room to include a duelling platform- random Harrys duel each other to reduce redundancy, and it is an exercise for improving speed- so it does not suffer the same fate as the conversation attempts.

And when a senior tries to pop his head in, Harry realises the need for better jinx-wards. Thus begins the research on locking and even plant defence- there is now a Venomous tentacula hybrid growing across the door, locking them in.

Eventually Nott gets tired of the mayhem in the dorm, and blasts a few cutting curses at the tentacula, and storms out. He returns only on the day before reopening, and watches in satisfaction as Harry mournfully puts away his time-clones and packs up his research.

There is peace at last!

......................................


	10. Chapter 10

Severus Snape does not enjoy going back to Spinners’ End. However, the Dark Lord has asked him to brew some highly illegal potions for questioning- (Nerve-burners, Veritaserum, blood-poisoning solutions of Galena) for a raid in Lyons.

The potions-master pores over the book containing the Nerve-burner. It’s a potion not authorised for even the Ministry Hit-Wizards. Possession of it equals a year in Azkaban.

But that is nothing compared to certain other potions the Dark Lord has often required of him.

There are ingredients to be harvested and bought, and Severus has to yet again stock up his house with a fortnight’s worth of necessities. And then, perhaps, the Dark Lord will be _merciful_ enough to let him avoid the raid. Severus’ skills as a duellist are in high demand, but the Dark Lord knows he does not enjoy the mindless violence. Which is why Severus’ punishments are always in the form of taking part in raids and torturing people.

The madman personalises punishment for each of his minions- for Bellatrix, it is imprisonment under a body-bind, for Lucius, Crabbe and Goyle, it is always taken out on their families, for Nott, it is being tortured- and so on.

The potions master apparates to Diagon Alley and restocks his basic supplies, and then he spends the next whole day hunting for the rarer ingredients. There’s a Firegrass to be plucked under a starless night, bugs to be caught, and venoms to be illegally bought from other countries.

The day of apparation exhausts Severus, but he needs to keep going and finish the Dark Lord’s assignments before he can breathe in peace.

The Nerve-burner is set to simmer for the week while he works on the Veritaserum, and the solutions of Galena are relatively easy to whip up even if the minerals were hard to find.

Five days later, Severus apparates to the Dark Lord’s headquarters and offers the Lead Solutions and Veritaserum. The Nerve-burner will take him all week, but there’s no rush- torturing the enemy can be done after the raid.

Severus returns to Spinners’ End and collapses on the bed without showering.

The next afternoon, he is refreshed and ready to go shopping. Take-out is a disgusting thing to consume, and he cannot wait to start preparing his own meals.

He’s at the bread-counter when it happens.

The supermarket is as dull as they come by. The trolley creaks like a skeleton scratching on a blackboard, and there’s a faulty wheel. Severus accidentally runs the god-forsaken thing into a woman’s toes. The lady yelps, and he helps her pick up her dropped package of brioche- and stops.

It’s Lily.

They stare, too breathless to speak- and then he apologises for running the darned trolley over her feet. The silence becomes unbearable, and Severus grabs his shopping, and turns to flee.

“Sev.”

He hasn’t heard that in years. It’s bitter, and yet agonisingly sweet. He sighs, and his voice drops to a whisper.

“Lily.”

They don’t really know what to say, but neither of them wants to be the first to leave, so they walk side-by-side, finishing up their shopping, and takes it to the counter to get it checked out. Outside the store, Severus acknowledges that it has been quite a while.

The last two of their Hogwarts years had been ‘Snape’ and ‘Evans’, speaking only when necessary, and even then, horribly curt. Severus had soon accepted the Mark, and Lily started dating James.

Their conversation is stunted and terribly awkward as they walk back to their respective streets, but it is reminiscing. The elephants are all avoided- no mention about James Potter and his spawns, nothing about Slytherin and its baby-Death Eaters, nothing about Severus’ stupid choices.

He asks about her sister- Petunia is living her ideal of normality with a company man for a spouse, a fine house in the suburbs, a ‘big, manly’ son and plenty of neighbours to gossip about. Lily sounds bitter as she talks about it, and Severus doesn’t ask more about Petunia.

Then they speak about gardens, Lily has a backyard full of medicinal and magical plants. So does Severus. Then about education- Lily’s nearly done with her Charms Mastery- might turn to one in Potions if she has the time, Severus has two Masteries in Defence and Potions and he’s the grouchy, grumpy dungeon bat of Hogwarts, stuck with preventing little imbeciles from blowing up their cauldrons.

Lily laughs. “You do pull the look well, Sev. I’m sure the kids are all talking about how you’re seducing maidens and drinking blood in your spare time.”

There’s no seducing part, he huffs. He’s the last person to be lusted after in Hogwarts- except, maybe Dumbledore. The two shudder upon the thought and share a smirk. Severus proudly adds that the incidents where children have pissed in their pants upon seeing him are few enough to be counted on his fingers. Lily isn’t sure that’s a good thing.

There’s another rumour that he’s a dangerous Dark Wizard on the run, wanted for stealing and murdering babes from their cradle, and using their souls to summon demons. That one’s passed amongst the first-years; no one else is gullible enough to believe it.

Severus isn’t sure why he’s telling Lily all these stupid tales that his students cook up, but then the red-head laughs, and he realises that’s why. He has missed her voice so very much.

Spinners’ End is here, and Severus amiably bids goodbye to his old flame, with a promise to meet up later. There’s a spring in his step when he walks back to the lonely house.

.....................................

They have lunch together next. It’s nothing more than a small restaurant in the town, but the food is good, and there’s a large window overlooking the canal. Lily talks about her Charms projects. Madam Beetel has moved on to enchanting a microwave, and Lily is making up the charms for the ingredients placed in the device to prepare itself. It’s a lot of fun, and she loves how compatible her Muggle knowledge is with her chosen field.

That’s where the first elephant is acknowledged. By accident, Lily mentions that she bounces ideas with Harry about her other projects- like glamours or improvements on the Everlast charm. Then she stops, holding her breath- she isn’t sure how Severus will take it.

During the divorce, James had been kind enough to disinherit his ‘son’ so that the child wouldn’t be even more trampled upon for having an unknown Muggle father. As far as the Wizarding World was concerned, James is Harry’s father, and the boy and his Muggleborn mother had been cast out for other private reasons. It isn’t the best outcome, but at least, being ostracised is better than being spat upon.

However- Severus is another matter. He probably will detest the child for being a James-spawn than for being the product of an adulterous night. She debates on telling him the truth, but is saved when her old friend breaks the pause first.

“He has your mind.” Severus says, setting his fork down and sighing. “Harry’s a brilliant boy- there is nothing for you to be ashamed about. If anything, it is Potter who should be ashamed he cast away a child like that.”

The man has taken her awkward silence the wrong way.

“I’m not ashamed of Harry.” Lily says quietly, but with conviction that rings true. “He’s my son- I’m proud of him for who he is.”

It is rare to see Severus crack a genuine smile devoid of sarcasm or sadistic glee. “Good. You raised him well. Although-”

“Yes?”

“He has been getting a little too flashy these days. It seems Lockhart has been rubbing off on him.”

And Severus is back to his grouchy, sulky self. Lily bursts out laughing- she cannot deny that Harry has been writing to the famous author throughout the summer. There’s no surprise that Severus cannot stand the man; they are polar opposites. He is flamboyant, loud and colourful, cheery in a narcissistic way while Severus is dark, quiet and brooding. She cannot imagine Severus inviting dwarves in winged costumes to sing love-poems in the corridors.

The conversation turns to Severus’ miserable year as Lockhart’s duelling ‘assistant’.

Sometimes, they have lunch together in Severus’ house, arguing over controversies in the latest research magazines. There is a paper in Transfigurations Today on permanent alterations at a genetic level, along with reactions of famous Transfigurations masters. The writer talks about how minor alterations in the gene of a child could possibly lead to different growth pathways- for example, the introduction of a flux charm by runic strings on the genetic material to create Metamorphic abilities. The community reactions are all about how callous and immoral it is.

Severus thinks, from an academic perspective, the idea has merits. It’s a completely new idea, the introduction of Muggle science to enhance magical research.

Lily disagrees; beside being immoral to experiment on the lives of people, the last such attempt to combine Muggle science with magic had been in electricity, and look how disastrously that ended up.

Soon, there’s a response article in the next week’s journal about the fault with Electricity and Magic: both are forms of energy; but electricity deals with the flow of pinpricks-sized charges, and magic is harnessed by the flux of miasma and aether. Charges react badly with aether, messing up the flow of both.

It’s a very illuminating article. The gene is a very physical, biological entity that can be transfigured. And a transfigured gene is an altered gene. It’s very possible to redesign a being by transfiguring it genetically.

The possibilities are frightening, and the next day, Transfigurations Today sends a charmed envelope that completely erases the former article, and a public apology is offered for the inconvenience. Severus has reason to believe that the Unspeakables are behind this- or perhaps, even the Dark Lord. That article had been ground-breaking, sensational information, and very dangerous in public hands.

.....................................

That night, the Inner Circle is summoned by the Dark Lord, who has a transcribed copy of the controversial article. The man wants to know who has written it.

Rookwood offers that the Unspeakables ordered the article’s removal, while identity of the writer is still unavailable. Rowle has a family tradition of beast-breeding, so he is asked to start experimenting upon the theory. This could be the key to purifying blood in the Wizarding World.

Severus shivers in his seat.

It’s happening, then.

Ever since the Dark Lord took control, he has been living in the shadows as an authoritarian shadow ruler. There hasn’t been many changes, except for taking down much of the rules outlawing dark magic and increasing werewolf rights. Muggleborns and Half-bloods have limited options, but their paths are not cut off completely. They have to demonstrate their worth to rise in official positions. The Purebloods seats in the Wizengamot has been returned to their rightful families (Minister Armistis Goddard had changed the Wizengamot into a replica of the House of Commons, back in 1931) and returned the Wizengamot’s powers over the election of the Minister of Magic.

But there has never been blatant Muggleborn segregation.

Severus returns to his house, chilled to the bone with the implications. Lily has asked him over for dinner, and is worried at the sight of his pale countenance. Severus shrugs it off as a stomach bug that he has to make the cure for, and apparates to Hogwarts after his dinner, to inform Dumbledore of these latest proceedings.

Dumbledore has also seen the article, and already discussed it with McGonagall. He isn’t surprised that the Dark Lord predicted it would be removed, and kept a transcription. The headmaster is worried though, that Rowle has been given instructions to start testing the hypothesis. But the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle does not have a transfigurations master. The man will tell his contacts to be wary, and observe who has been selected for assisting Rowle.

If possible, he will try to sabotage the research- because it can only do more harm than good.

................................

In the Slytherin Dormitory, one of the Harrys is looking at Transfigurations Today and scowling. They have paid him a pouch of Galleons as an apology, but he isn’t after the gold. Sure, Nott had got him into sharing his research in reputed magazines only for the money, but this kind of revolutionary magic was meant to stick in the minds of readers, not be erased for a couple of coins.

Perhaps, it’s time to release the proof?

“Don’t do it.” Nott says. “They’re not ready, hoi polloi. That’s why they removed the article.”

“Don’t all great revolutions take people by surprise?”

Nott sighs. “Yes, but yours is a one-man show, Evans. Those don’t work out in the long run.”

Ah, so that was it. He’ll have to recruit.

......................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some Snape and Lily screen time!  
> Do tell me if the theories go overboard (or jus plain nonsensical.) I tend to theorise on fantasy subjects a lot, and it shows. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	11. Chapter 11

Severus returns to mayhem in the castle. Potter had gone home and received a mental boost from his father and cronies, and has become all the more insufferable for it. It is his pleasure to assign him cauldrons to scrub and flobberworms to mince for the next two months.

Classes progress wonderfully- there’s a competent Defence professor for once- Augustus Thimblefond, an ex-adventurer, whose syllabus mostly goes through basics shield and protection spells that teach the children to react quickly and guard themselves. His lessons come to fruition in Severus’ classes- most of the third years and above now have the presence of mind to at least cast a Shield charm when their potions explode. The Bubble-Head charm is advanced level, but Thimblefond seems to be trying to teach it from OWLs classes onwards.

In March, the Defence professor decides to re-establish the duelling club, and conduct a little inter-house open tournament in late May. He approaches Severus and Flitwick for help. After that, it’s a wonder how people pay attention in class. There’s a hundred points reward for whoever wins the tournament, and additional ten points to each duel won. A mad scramble ensues- the likes of which is only ever seen in the Quidditch teams.

Children are practising spells whenever they can, the most competitive can be seen buzzing around the library, and spying on potential rivals. Teachers thank the new defence professor for the students’ renewed interest in classes with words (McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick) and actions (a friendly thump on the back by Hagrid has the man toppling.) But not all teachers are pleased- Sinistra has caught more than a dozen children passing hexes or falling to fatigue in Astronomy.

In the twice-a-month club sessions, Thimblefond pairs people up and corrects their movements, and often, there are demonstrative duels between the teachers; proper ones, not a pathetic farce like the one with Lockhart.

Severus is only too happy to demonstrate his skills as one of the best duellers in the Inner Circle.

Of course, there are limitations. No Dark Arts allowed, no beating up a fallen opponent, no casting before the formal bow, and no casting after the opponent has surrendered. Physical attacks are to be limited to disarming in close range- that is, no punching, kicking or wrestling.

And finally, all that anticipation comes to a climax when May is about to end, and the inter-house duelling tournament opens. The headmaster has set aside a whole week, and for good reason: there is a rush to sign up, and the first round has about a hundred students. There are two classrooms set up as the duelling halls- Severus and McGonagall is supervising Hall 1, while Thimblefond and Flitwick take up Hall 2.

Split within the two halls, there are fifteen duels per day scheduled in each hall, for two days, as part of the first round. Dumbledore transfigures a raised platform at the centre of each hall, and a set of benches around it for people to watch.

The first years are only allowed to watch- their duelling abilities as of now are limited to shooting sparks at each other. The second years are also less- very few are confident enough in their abilities to duel in public. Their rounds finish very quickly- a few disarming charms, tickling spells, tongue-twisters and a cleverly placed levitation spell are the best of their repertoire. The third years fare better- they have Jelly-leg hexes, stinging charms, there is an interesting attempt to transfigure the opponent’s wand that misfires horribly, some conjured fire and Severus watches in satisfaction as Weasley gets blasted backwards, and begins to vomit slugs. The boy is rushed to the Hospital Wing, while Draco climbs back to his feet and looks thankful that his opponent’s spell has backfired.

Severus shoots the boy a scathing look- that’s a pathetic duel, and calls for the next pair. Hall 1 has neither Harry, nor Granger- their duel was something he had been looking forward to. The Fourth years’ duel progresses much better, and it is time to call it a day.

The second day of the first round takes up the OWLs and NEWTs students. The younger years are all assembled, wide-eyed, eagerly watching their seniors duel. It is illuminating, and Diggory seems to have accumulated a little following of star-struck first-years. The older students also use plenty of transfiguration and conjuring in their duels- Bennet makes a spectacular show non-verbally conjuring Devil’s snare behind his opponent, and then disarming the unlucky child while the plant serves as a distraction.

The first round is randomized within the years, but from the second round onwards, the pairs ate randomised within groups that the professors make. The group consists of a lower year and the immediate upper year. It is meant to make it more challenging- and also a reminder for the upper years to not slack off just because they’re a year ahead.

The second round starts off with the second-years and third-years group. There’s little surprise when the winners of the second round are mostly third years, with just one second year- unsurprisingly, a Ravenclaw, Mkapa. To Severus’ immense surprise, there’s the Weasley twins (fourth and fifth year group) qualified for the third round- they aren’t the type to pay attention in classes, and are always tossing things into the cauldron for ‘fun’. The teachers have been making bets on the NEWT level students- so far, all the promising ones have qualified the second round as well. The day ends.

Severus asks Sinistra how the Slytherins in Hall 2 have been performing, and is immensely pleased that Montague’s in the top three of the NEWT group. Farley is also a favourite- there are bets running about her chance to face off against her long-term rival and Hufflepuff prefect, Bennet. In the fourth and fifth year group, there’s Travers and Blishwick, who show promise. Evans, Malfoy and Nott have made it past the second round.

Later that evening, Severus writes Lily about the tournament. Agrees that it’s actually a clever way to get moronic children to focus in class. He wishes she could be there to watch it- while the tournament is bothersome to conduct, the duels are interesting to watch, especially the upper years’.

The third round sees further mixing up of the groups- the lower three years in one group, the upper three in the other. Hall 1 has seven duels, Hall 2 has eight. Severus watches Malfoy get tossed out of the ring easily by Ichikawa, Nott hexes his opponent with a strange long-lasting stinging hex- Chang has to be levitated to the Hospital Wing since she would scream at contact. Severus and McGonagall corner the boy and make him repeat the spell- the Transfigurations Professor wants to disqualify Nott for using dark magic.

Severus takes apart the spell in his mind, and nearly snorts at the absurdity of it. It’s a preservation charm combined with a stinging hex, with the addition of a ‘Totalus’ wand movement- to ensure the stinging action spreads throughout the body and lasts long. Since the stinging charm is momentary, a finite cannot be used, even on the modified version. It’s very clever, and he tells it to McGonagall.

The dragon lady is not satisfied, but it’s a combination of harmless spells, and nothing can be done. When asked where he learnt the spell, Nott replies that it is Evans’ creation.

Severus feels a surge of pride that he cannot place.

There’s an extra match in Hall 2, and when Hall 1 is done, they filter out to go watch. It is Granger versus Blishwick. There are equal bets on them, and Severus smacks Jordan’s head when he collects bets from first and second years.

Granger does not let Blishwick begin- she throws a swelling charm at his neck, and Blishwick is forced to defend. Once the boy is distracted with casting a Shield Charm, the girl starts to throw hex after hex. They’re not all that impressive; basic spells like jelly-fingers, tongue-tying hexes and conjured fire, and Blishwick doesn’t get a chance to go on the offensive. While trying to get rid of a ring of conjured fire, Granger disarms the boy, and puts him in a full body-bind. There’s thunderous applause- she’s a third year who has bested a fifth-year, and the third round concludes.

There are fifteen qualifiers for the next round, so the sixth year, Eileen Chandler, by popular vote, is allowed to participate in the fourth round.

The next round progresses much better- eight duels, four in each hall, and no more groups. Nott gets taken out by one of the Weasley twins in a hilarious and spectacular manner- the redhead conjures gum and shoots it at Nott, effectively coating his wand, and the younger boy’s attempt at a shield-charm fails. Nott is humiliated with a jet of thick, tar-like taffy and a hex that lets him only make buzzing sounds. At lunch, Severus notes the boy sitting grumpily beside Evans, while Malfoy attempts to ease his temper. The two purebloods send glares across the hall at the Weasley brood.

................................

Harry attempts to recruit the Weasley twins after that. He casually chats them up, and is genuinely interested in their pranking work.

“Why pranking, though?” He asks. “You’ve plenty of intellect, you could get a Masters in Charms and then turn to Artificery. I’m told that certification goes a long way in opening up employment opportunities.”

The twins have identical grimaces. “More schooling? No thanks. We’re planning to start a joke shop.”

That’s it...?

What a waste of talent.

Apparently, his depreciation must have shown on his face, for twins are no longer bemused.

“I’m sure you could find more challenging avenues than being practical jokers.” Percy Weasley has joined the conversation, and the twins scowl at him. “I’m applying for a job in the Ministry.” Percy adds, looking self-important.

“Good for you, Perce; Merlin knows that the Ministry needs more air from people like you to save it from deflation.” They promptly scamper, and Percy turns red, like a tomato.

Harry regards the Head Boy carefully- there’s so much ambition for a Weasley. The clan of red-heads are as famous for their poverty and disinterest in social status as they are for their multiplication rate. How is the Head Boy not in Slytherin?

That aside, he has to be more subtle about recruiting the twins. They seem less interested in chatting with Slytherins- typical of hot-blooded Gryffindors. Harry cannot understand how someone can be so laid-back in their life. People need connections to get ahead in life. Skill alone can only take you so far. And then he thinks of Lockhart- yes, people with little to call skills can also race ahead.

Harry checks his watch- he has a duel in half an hour.

The restriction on Dark Magic is a little limiting, but that’s alright- Harry has plenty of other spells in his repertoire. He is suddenly glad that he has used the time-turner to practise during the winter and spring holidays.

His opponent is a fifth-year, Peakes. They ready their wands and bow, and Harry attacks with a ring of conjured fire, and while his opponent is busy extinguishing it, he conjures tiny marbles all around the boy’s feet.

It distracts well, Peake loses his footing and gives Harry a longer moment to fire of two successive spells, using the swirl at the end of one to make the circular motion for the second. Peakes avoids the Jelly-fingers, only to get hit by the transfiguration- his shoes are suddenly eggs that break under his feet.

Harry wants to show a little house-pride, and shoots out a mixture of Serpensortia and Incarcerus- Peakes is bound by a pair of green pythons and quickly disarmed. Apparently, he has made the right call, for the Hufflepuff seems terrified of snakes.

Thimblefond vanishes the snakes and declares Harry the winner, to plenty of cheer.

Harry spins on the platform, tossing his bright auburn ponytail and bowing flamboyantly. Malfoy waits for him at the benches and gestures to a bouquet of mismatched flowers.

“Offerings from your prostrated fans.” The boy mutters disgruntledly.

“Charming.” Harry picks out a yellow carnation among the lot and sniffs it before tucking it behind his ear. It clashes horribly with the red of his hair, and Malfoy, whose early etiquette lessons came with flowers and their meanings, snorts at the poorly-veiled irony.

They both wonder who has sent Harry the carnation- and are answered when a first-year Gryffindor shyly glances at Harry and flushes. Muggle-raised, obviously. Harry smiles kindly at her, and her face reddens even more, and she looks away.

Malfoy wonders loudly what the world has come to, if ickle-firsties are sending infatuated glances at people. Harry not-so-discreetly reminds him of his first-year crush on the resident celebrity, Neville Longbottom.

“You wouldn’t understand, Evans. People don’t just ‘escape’ from the Dark Lord’s attack. They say he got hit by _Rosier’s_ curses, and that man is said to be even worse than Aunt Bellatrix when it concerns children. Younger, the better.” Malfoy said in hushed whispers. “Merlin, when Rosier has to be invited to a ball, the children are all sent to their relatives- nobody will ever tell me what he does.” The blond shuddered.

Harry is intrigued by this inside information. Nott isn’t that close with his father, so Harry’s information on the Dark Lord and his Inner Council is limited. But Malfoy, why, the little aristocrat positively seems like a Daddy’s boy. Harry asks more about his Aunt and her connections to the Dark Lord- and nearly lets out his relish on learning that Lucius Malfoy is the Dark Lord’s right-hand at the Ministry.

He’s accidentally netted a deliciously large fish with that favour. Oh, Harry is more than delighted.

............................................


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My favourite chapter in this fic so far~ The end of the duelling tournament.

The sixth day is the quarterfinals round. There are eight students- Harry, Granger, Travers, Chandler, Phúc, Bennet, Diggory and Montague. Hall 1 is enough for them all, and after the round, the semifinals. There’s a much larger assembly, and many people are surprised that there are two third-years amongst the OWLs and NEWTs students.

The matches are randomised, again, and lands the first match of Travers versus Phúc- there’s an easy result, because Phúc Lam is the best of seventh years, _and_ he’s a Ravenclaw. The older boy fires non-verbal spells rapidly at Travers, who holds his own with several defense spells, occasionally getting in a blasting spell, or a Stunner. The short Asian boy bows and exits when Travers surrenders.

The second duel is better matched- Chandler and Bennet. Both are sixth years, and Chandler’s speciality is charms while Bennet’s is defence. There are oohs and cheers from the crowd when Chandler conjures a cloud of little birds to attack the boy, who retaliates by incinerating the birds and slashing at Chandler. There are conjured things popping up and being banished or tossed back, spells fly and colours flash from their wands. Chandler has better casting, but Bennet has better strategy. Ultimately, Chandler uses colour spells as feints and catches the other boy unaware, flooring him with a Reductor. There’s a bloody mess, and Chandler herself looks queasy and apologetic while Madam Pomfrey levitates the fallen opponent onto a stretcher.

Thimblefond pauses the tournament there and makes the assembled students note down the clever use of feints and strategy. He points out that while strategy can save one’s hide in most cases, there are of course, exceptions. So no slacking off on learning new spells.

The next duel is Harry’s, and it is against Cedric Diggory.

Diggory may only be a sixth-year, but he’s famous for his intelligence and spellwork. It’s a hard-earned reputation, and most of all, Diggory is known to be innovative.

And true to character, the first spell that leaves Diggory’s mouth is ‘Silencio’.

Harry pulls up a layered shield and sidesteps the spell anyway. It was one of his projects, ever since he started on Arithmancy, to layer spells together. The silencing spell bounces off the shield, and Diggory begins to attack with more vigour.

This duel is different from the rest of Harry’s duels- Diggory happens to be a very skilled opponent, for one, and will keep him too occupied to play around or put on a show. Harry settles into the most comfortable duelling stance- one that keeps him on his toes, and returns fire with the same vigour. There are shields as well as avoiding manoeuvres, and Harry gives as good as he gets. He also learns that Diggory’s sense of fair play was stopping from going his best against a much younger child.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

He lets the older boy’s next silencing charm hit him, quickly puts up another three-layer shield ward silently, waiting. Diggory is determined to finish the duel, and shoots a Disarming charm, a body-bind and an Incarcerous. The spells bounce off the ward; and there’s a grim set to Diggory’s jaw as he sends a Reductor to break the shield.

Harry waits, letting it sink to the audience that he has been ‘silenced’, and steps out of the way as the spell blasts through his ward. Diggory looks a little relieved that he isn’t hurt, and is about to end the duel. The boy raises his wand, and Harry darts a step forward, casting animatedly.

He’s aware that the mad gleam has returned to his eyes- the one Nott says he gets when he’s particularly breathless- and the surge of adrenaline isn’t helping.

Going non-verbal has improved his advantage- the list of spells he can do now is endless. He can use made-up spells, obscure ones found in Lucius Malfoy’s not-so-dark texts, and he can put the latest set of spell-practise into trial.

After learning that colour is one important aspect of identifying a non-verbal spell, he had tried to eliminate colour entirely, using the entirety of his Easter break and a heavy tome on Spell Division to take apart spells. Once he had found out the colour-component of a spell, he tried to find an alternative to making it work, often resulting in bizarre new spells or changing the colour entirely. There was even a harmless Orchideous spell that changed to a bright green, making it a perfect feint for the Killing Curse.

No, he wasn’t going to use that here- that one’s for very special occasions.

Diggory looks gobsmacked, nearly getting hit a few times while recovering from his shock. But the boy is considered one of the best for a reason- and he gets his head back in the game very quickly. Soon, they both are in the zone- nothing but the duel registers in their minds.

And Harry’s mighty pleased to see that his opponent isn’t holding back anymore.

Diggory silently conjures a litany of objects to magically hurl at him, an Oppugno ensuring that they kept attacking him at all times. A well-aimed Bombarda took care of half the lot before they even reached midway across the platform. Harry sends three Stunners back, their colours so peculiar (he was sure the few spells which took on that particular shade of pink were dubious love charms) and Diggory looks at them, baffled, before casting a shield _as well as_ stepping out of the way.

Better safe than sorry.

Harry sends him a shark-like grin, before throwing another Confringo disguised as a tickling charm. Diggory sidesteps it easily, transfiguring one of the littered pieces of junk into a big dog and setting it to attack him.

The disguised Confringo hits a table and blasts it into smithereens.

Harry shivers in relish- the look on Diggory’s face is priceless (it’s the best version of ‘what-the-hell-did-you-just-throw-at-me-Evans?’ that he has seen so far) but he cannot let himself be distracted, and transfigures a shattered wooden bat into a mess of wild tentaculae- they happily attack Diggory’s mutt, while he counters the follow-up of a bone-breaker hex and a banishing charm.

He wandlessly conjures marbles in his free hand and throws them at Diggory, who casts a protean shield that can stop the marbles. Alas, the other boy does not expect Harry to transfigure the marbles into snakes in the nick of time, and has to deal with a bunch of slithering, hissing animals at his feet. The time taken to vanish the snakes is well spent for Harry to conjure oil on the platform around Diggory.

There are boos from the crowd when the older boy slips, and someone yells that they shouldn’t have expected better from a slimy snake. He gets rapid-fire from Diggory, and Harry makes another shield-ward. He flits randomly between verbal and non-verbal spell casting, hoping to throw his opponent off track.

Harry is so utterly engrossed in battle, by that point, that he loses track of his surroundings. One of Diggory’s missed spells ricochets back at Harry and he takes his eyes off to divert his shield in that direction- and promptly gets snagged by one of the tendrils of his own tentacula. Harry curses, and incinerates the offending plant, but gets hit when his three-layer shield bursts under another Reductor. The next two spells aren’t late either, and he gets blasted out of the platform, and hits the wall. There’s a small explosion as one of the spell’s a Confringo, and he thinks he’s broken his ribs.

..................................

Severus jumps to his feet at the explosion, and sweeps towards the battle, along with Thimblefond and Pomfrey. Diggory comes running, looking worried.

He asks which of the spells have hit- the Confringo, Impedimenta or Reducto. It’s likely the first two- the strength of the Reductor seems to have been absorbed by the triple-layer shield for it to do any real damage.

Harry’s under the rubble, and looks a bloody mess. Thimblefond declares Diggory the winner, while Pomfrey magicks the rubble off the third-year. She looks grim at the damage on his chest, and gingerly levitates the boy onto a stretcher, carting him off to the Hospital Wing. Draco and his cronies follow while Nott remains to watch the last duel- Granger versus Montague.

Severus can’t watch it properly, not when his mind keeps flitting to the infirmary. While Granger seems to be putting up an impressive fight against a sixth-year, Montague’s only playing with her. Their duel is much more close-distance than the last one- and Severus can read Montague’s lips well enough to realise he’s taunting her for her Muggle heritage. Granger also has a good repertoire of spells for a third-year, but she’s not wild enough to ditch all sensibilities and fight just for the hell of it.

Yes, that was what Harry had done- he had shown off in the most striking way possible, the silly brat, he thinks affectionately, and Severus cannot draw any parallels with Lily there. That’s not the way he remembers Lily fighting- Lily duelled to protect what was right, what was important.

Harry doesn’t duel like Potter, either. Potter, for one, would not have gone into that obsessive, maniacal mentality. Severus cannot place why that style seems so familiar- is it the Dark Lord? He shudders, and then thinks of Dumbledore. There are a few occasions (he can count them in one hand) where he has seen Dumbledore duel the Dark Lord.

Those two men _enjoy_ the battle, relish the release of power and the ostentatious display they put up to awe their spectators. The Dark Lord does not bother to hide it with a twinkly smile and thin veils of false-modesty like the Headmaster does. Severus knows a few other people who fight like that- for pleasure and show: himself included, and shudders to think of sweet Lily’s son being one of them. Lily prefers modest efficiency to unnecessary violence.

That moment, somehow, Severus decides that he cannot tell Lily the finer points of Harry’s duel. Sure, he’ll write that Harry was brilliant, simply astounding in his mastery of non-verbal spells and quick reaction, and point out the small flaws in the boy’s technique and form (gifted though Harry certainly is, his inexperience shone through in the way he made little mistakes. Mistakes which Severus intends to correct soon,) but he cannot share certain other aspects- the feints, the combined-spell tricks, the mad laughter?

Absolutely not.

And then he thinks of Harry in his Hospital bed, chest torn open with that Blasting curse, and sighs. Where exactly had the child even learnt to fight like that? What had he thrown- some strange combined spells? There had been a spell coloured like a Depulso that turned into a conjured arrow, another blue spell that looked like a tail-growing jinx that transfigured a broken bottle into a bear-trap- Merlin, thinking about all those feints makes Severus’ head ache. He will have to replay the memory in a pensieve to pick apart the strange spells.

Granger falls from a cutting curse to the knees, (it has cut through her tendons, and Montague looks smug about showing the Muggleborn her rightful place) and cannot block the well-planned Exploding charm near her face. Severus stops the duel before the NEWT student can do any more damage and get himself disqualified. The Muggleborn girl also lands herself in the Hospital Wing, but she has lasted fifteen minutes against Montague.

Impressive.

Severus drops by the infirmary under the pretext of ‘concern over one of his snakes’ and finds Draco there. He draws the curtains close and chats a little with his godson- Harry still hasn’t woken up, and he’s amused when he realises Draco has found another figure to worship.

“I thought you were pining after Longbottom?” Severus teases- it’s no secret that Draco has been trying to get into Longbottom’s circle of friends; unfortunately for him, the fame-addled thickhead does not know to stand up and choose for himself, blindly obeying that old hag of a grandmother instead.

Draco flushes and snaps. “Don’t word it like _that,_ Uncle Sev! People will start to think I’m some sort of...” his voice drops to a hush, “...fanboy.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Severus leans forward on his chair with all his snark. “Ten years, I’ve heard you going ‘Longbottom this, Longbottom that’- I suppose that was all for nothing?”

“Oh, please.” The boy drawls. “Longbottom might be a celebrity escapist, but he’s good for nothing more. And besides,” he shoots Harry a look of poorly-hidden worship, “Evans is _amazing._ You saw him today! A bloody _sixth year,_ Uncle Sev, I couldn’t even believe-”

A polite cough cuts him off, and they both look at the bed to realise that Harry is perfectly awake and smirking.

The redhead looks cheekily at Severus. “Bantering, _Professor?_ I hadn’t pegged you for the humorous type.”

Both Severus and Draco flush. The way the boy says ‘Professor’ makes Severus want to strangle him. Draco awkwardly shuffles out of the room, claiming that it was almost dinner. The potions master stays long enough to ask the boy how he’s feeling and leaves.

......................................

Harry badgers Madam Pomfrey to let him and Granger out of the infirmary to attend the final match, but in vain. The matron sternly tells him that he’s recovering from a blasting curse to the chest. They had missed the semifinal; it had been just after Granger’s match, (Diggory vs Chandler, Phúc vs Montague) but Nott comes by to tell him the final is between Diggory and Phúc.

It’s quite annoying, Harry decides, as he lies back and stares at the ceiling. He has a feeling that the seventh year will win against Diggory, if Phúc’s quarterfinal match was anything to go by. He’s missing a terrific match, and on the bed beside, the Gryffindor girl mirrors his sentiments.

Half her face is covered in bandages- severely burnt by the exploding charm, and Madam Pomfrey comes in the afternoon to apply Dittany and change her bandages.

Diggory limps after the matron, sporting a shattered radius, and a few deep burns. Harry is right in his assumption that Diggory has lost to Phúc, and makes a mental note to ask Nott about the match. The older boy good-naturedly asks Harry how he’s feeling, but doesn’t apologise. They have a silent understanding that it was a formal duel, and both of them had known what they were getting into. The boy gets manhandled into a bed by Madam Pomfrey, and obviously will not be let out until dinner. Diggory groans, and tries to charm his way out, and fails.

He and Granger strike up conversation, with Harry listening in. Apparently, Diggory’s the Hufflepuff seeker, as well as Quidditch Captain, and has been landing himself in the Hospital Wing for years now. Harry doesn’t attend any Quidditch matches, and rarely does Granger, by the sound of it.

“Did Potter really beat you in his first game?” Granger asks tactlessly, and Diggory hums. Harry rolls back, uninterested- it’s common knowledge by now that he’s not on good terms with the Potter brat.

With nothing to do, Harry’s thoughts drift around until it settles on the Malfoy patriarch.

He hasn’t heard from the man since summer, but Malfoy Jr talks about his father often enough for Harry to get a rough idea of what he has been up to. Lord Malfoy is the quintessential Slytherin, sly and slippery. He has a strong sense of pride and self-preservation, obviously greater than whatever loyalty he feels to the Dark Lord, and he spoils his son. The Auror raids on their Manor-house has revealed nothing incriminating (of course it wouldn’t- all the dark artefacts are sitting in crates, hidden in a forgotten little thicket near Sootstack Line) and that immaculate façade has helped the blond aristocrat improve his public image as an upstanding member of society.

Harry wonders if he can re-establish contact with Lord Malfoy and make more connections this summer. Nott has said that the easiest way to climb up in social status is through the Malfoys’ Annual Yule Ball and the Spring Equinox Gala. Anyone who’s anyone in Wizarding Britain will attend either of those, but securing an invitation is often difficult.

Using Draco is the easy path- one that he will not take. There’s no challenge in asking the besotted blond to get him an invite; but Harry can use the boy to get information on his father.

There’s work to do, but there’s also plenty of time. He doesn’t need immediate results.

.......................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, so I know that Diggory in canon is a fifth year in 1993-1994, but I kinda forgot that while writing, and made up a lot of plans for his future.  
> (I love this chapter, and am very, very glad that I got to post it today- I always post something on my favourite dates every year, and December is a mood in itself...)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another look into their regular lives.

The duel with Diggory makes Harry practically a celebrity amongst the lower years. Sure, there are some fifth years sceptic of his skill, but they can be won over slowly. It’s only his third year and he has plenty more time to establish himself as the kingpin of Slytherin and recruit.

When the exams close up on them, Harry finds Granger and Longbottom sitting by the lake, with frazzled hair and tired eyes. The Hufflepuff part of their trio seems to be missing, and Harry casually drops into the free space. He peers into the Muggle Studies textbook and promptly snorts when he finds a terrible description of football. It’s described as a violent and bloodthirsty game, falsely named as there’s very little contact between ball and feet. Harry supposes it’s true, to some extent- who names a sport ‘Football’ when much of it consists of clinging onto a ball and hoping one does not get literally crushed by the other team?

Granger slams her head on the textbook and wonders why she even signed up for Muggle Studies. Much of it is misinterpreted garbage- they even have a section on how a street lamp post is actually a summoning rod for lightning.

They’re not writing the Divination exam. Longbottom is, however, and the unfortunate boy laments how Trelawney expects him to predict his own demise in creative ways for the exam. The round-faced Gryffindor is rather superstitious, and wishes loudly that he had taken Muggle Studies instead.

Harry points out that _that_ class is also garbage, but Longbottom doesn’t mind. Anything is better than listening to how he’s going to get mauled by a Cerberus or be squashed flat by a falling bookshelf. (Suffice to say he has been avoiding the library like the plague ever since.)

The boys drag Granger down to Hagrid’s for tea and conversation when it’s obvious the girl is about to hyperventilate with all that revision.

Granger offhandedly mentions how she has been researching laws to save Buckbeak, and Harry remembers that there’s a hippogriff due to be executed on the last day of the exams. Apparently, there are a few helpful laws, but nothing that can stand against the might (and bribes) of the Malfoy name.

Hagrid looks tired, to say the least. He has lost faith in the Ministry, and Harry wonders if he can use this moment of weakness to gain a favour from them. They’re on the opposite side of the spectrum- Dumbledore and his merry band of Muggle-lovers, if he has inferred right, and it will be very useful to have a favour that he can cash in on when the time is ripe.

That evening, Harry stalks to Malfoy’s bed and sits without warning. The blond pales and shrinks to his corner, remembering the past few times Harry has accosted him in the dormitory. But the redhead does not have a knife, and his arms are firmly folded and tucked in disapproval.

“What’s this about you demanding the execution of a hippogriff?” He asks, and Malfoy regains colour on his cheeks.

“The ruddy chicken attacked me!” The boy was about to lift his sleeves to show that oh-so-terrible wound when he froze under Harry’s scathing, cold glare.

Then his lips stretch into a slow, painful smile, while Nott sighs and sets his book aside, intent on watching the show. “I can show you worse. Would you like that, _Draco?”_ The blond shakes his head. Harry leans back uninterestedly and begins to drone like Granger does when she’s reciting facts. “In 1868, Britain’ first Wizarding census counted the country’s hippogriff population to be a hundred herds. In 1988, by the fifth census, that number had fallen to a mere two dozen- because of the idiocy, greed and selfishness of wizards like _you.”_

He pauses, letting the weight of his wrath settle on the boy. By this time, the entire of third-year boys were gathered round Malfoy’s bed. Crabbe and Goyle look quelled, and Zabini is smart enough to realise who holds the advantages and sly enough to shift allegiances. Harry will not obtain his loyalty with a mere show of power.

He turns to the quailing Malfoy, and traces a finger down the boy’s nose in a mockery of Narcissa Malfoy’s affectionate touches, the way he has seen them in the blond’s memories.

“Tell me, Draco. Do you believe in the endangerment of a magical species- or race, for that matter- for defending that fragile pride of yours? Do you think a creature’s life should be extinguished for that pathetic a blow?” His finger traces the scar on the boy’s arm; “Do you wish to cut down what little of the Magical world that we have around us? Destroy magic, bit by bit, one life at a time?”

His voice is impassioned by this time- a rare display of true emotion from Harry; he revels in the wonder of Magic, and his adulation is imparted to the spectators by his reverent tone.

It’s a strange mixture of affection, allure, threat and fear that breaks Malfoy, Harry can see the emotions pool in the blond’s grey eyes, in the sheen of sweat on the clammy forehead, the quiver of his fingers and the splotches of red on those high cheekbones- and Harry realises that Draco Malfoy has become _his,_ completely. The boy will do whatever Harry wants, will kneel and obey, will offer his life in his servitude.

The exams end and the entire school is in joyous relief, and the delicious dinner spread weighing down the House tables reflect the mood. Harry sees Granger and Longbottom waving him over, beaming. He knows what it’s about- the hippogriff has been spared the axe. Malfoy has written his father, claiming to have been ‘enlightened’ about the conservation of magical creatures. No doubt, Lord Malfoy was determined to save face, and had changed his demand: the offending creature has to be removed from the grounds and rehabilitated elsewhere.

“You’re welcome.” Harry drawls as he walks past the Gryffindor table. Longbottom gapes a little, while the girl is used to him by now, that she only rolls her eyes and mutters about sneaky Slytherins. Harry bows his head with a flourish of his hand, and winks. “Of course, darling. You owe me.”

Granger knows it’s a proper debt, but she flushes just the same.

......................................

Lily picks her son up from Kings’ Cross Station, and tells herself that she oughtn’t have been so amazed that his circle of friends is expanding. Harry makes his way through the crowd exchanging nods and words with even children from other years. He’s popular, and Lily realises with a pang of guilt that the only reason he had been so lonely in his early years was because his peers were Muggle children who couldn’t comprehend how gifted Harry was.

She is then pulled into a warm, tight hug, and they walk out, Harry regaling her with stories of his year. Again, he’s neck-to-neck with the Gryffindor girl, Granger, and a little grumpy at having been beaten in the total score because of an extra subject the girl had taken. Lily thinks the boy has picked up on Severus’ mannerisms after three years of being the man’s star student; that disgruntled scowl looks positively like Sev.

She pokes him about potential crushes, to which he merely shakes his head- he’s only thirteen, any girl problems, hopefully, will only be a few years later.

At home, they dance to the radio while beetroot soup bubbles away on the stove, and Lily dips Harry- she’s still leading, he hasn’t picked up on moving to the music despite having gotten proficient at the steps- and realises Harry’s almost at her chin.

During dinner, they talk about the duelling club and Professor Thimblefond: (Circe, I hope the man stays, I’m told he’s one of the best Defence teachers we’ve had over the years!) and about the Electives. Lily is stunned that Harry would just storm out of a class like that-

“Oh, please, that false old windbag called me _the_ Dark Lord, for Merlin’s sake!” Harry cried, and did a cruel, but accurate mimicry of Trelawney screaming and flailing. “How was I supposed to stand a whole year of that?”

Lily frowns- because she knows her son- _obviously-_ isn’t He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but she also knows that the Divination Professor is the seer who delivered the prophecy that doomed the lives of the Longbottoms. Other than a stern chiding to not make fun of his teachers, she doesn’t say much, letting Harry change the subject.

Runes and Arithmancy fascinate him, and he tells her of his attempts to combine the two- runic magic inside arithmantic matrices- Lily hasn’t ever taken Runes, so her knowledge of them is limited to what Severus used to tell her. On the other hand, she had taken Care of Magical Creatures, and while she did like Professor Kettleburn’s classes, she’s chuffed that Hagrid has gotten the opportunity he deserves.

Their days together are spent testing out charms on a microwave, Harry’s inputs often very illuminating- and he accompanies her the next time she and Madam Beetel go scrap-hunting in a nearby Muggle junkyard. The microwave had been a disaster, and the bull-headed Charms Master attacks the problem in foolhardy, absurd ways, until Harry sits them both down and explains the principle behind the vibration of food particles with a specific range of waves.

Apparently, they have been going about it in the wrong manner- trying to enchant the machine itself only resulted in explosions of varying scale- they will have to find a charm mechanism that vibrates particles to heat them up.

Again, Harry often locks himself in either the basement-turned-potions lab or his room to test out spells, and Lily is astounded to see an expanded workstation in the tiny room where Harry is tinkering with mirrors.

“Preening yourself, darling?” She teases, and gets a brooding scowl in return. Harry has yet to lose much of his baby fat, and Lily wonders who he will resemble once he shapes up in the right places. She combs her fingers through his auburn hair, pulling it out of the untidy bun. His self-care routine seems to get neglected whenever he is in the middle of a particularly consuming project- and the hair often suffers the most, turning oily and lacklustre.

“It’s getting a bit long, hmm?” Lily asks, and Harry glares at her with sunken eyes.

“Mum, I’m on the verge of a magical breakthrough, and you want to talk about hair?” He looks a bit defeated, so Lily pulls him downstairs for a cup of tea. Harry’s almost growing past her fifth year robes, and her work has been paying better these days, so she decides that she would save up a bit and get her son a new set of robes.

Harry talks about enchanting mirrors to show other places, to talk (Lily knows the arithmantic layout to charm a mirror to provide reviews, it was the basics of her Mastery) and to show various versions of the user. (She has niggling doubts that Harry’s real interest lies in that last part.)

Lily suggests trying on water first- water is relatively easy to charm, and has a reflective surface. She shows him how to make a talking mirror in a basin of water, and then freezes it into ice to carve a matrix on its surface. The ice warps under the strain, but they succeed in making a not-reflection. But it’s only the equivalent of a chocolate-frog picture, and they have a long way to go.

Lily is also attempting a Potions Mastery on the side, and the kitchen store is magically expanded and heavily warded for use as Lily’s lab. They shop for ingredients at Slug and Jiggers; Mrs Jigger is pleasantly surprised to hear that her former assistant has started on a mastery. Lily’s apprenticing under one of the Ministry’s official suppliers. The middle-aged wizard is thin and wrinkled with a no-nonsense air, and works on regulation potions: honestly, it’s a bit dry, but she’ll take whatever she can get.

She could also have asked Severus, but the man is probably busy teaching ‘dunderheads’ to guide her Mastery- although they both know full well that Lily is capable of doing it without supervision. But she looks forward to working with Sev when he returns for the summer after packing up his classrooms and finishing with the NEWT internal assessments.

............................................


	14. Chapter 14

Two weeks into the summer hols, Lily is fumbling around in the kitchen. Harry can sense something’s up, but when his mother mentions having an old friend for dinner, he’s surprised. This is the first time Lily has mentioned a friend who’s still alive. And then he’s a little more than angry.

Where was this _friend_ when Lily needed him? When Lily had to carry around a toddler to look for odd jobs on the street and feed their rumbling bellies with a pittance?

They have their first fight in a long time when Lily tells him to shut it and be nice to the guest. Harry wants to blast the guest to Mars. Lily replies that she had intentionally not sought him out- because she has more pride than to let an old acquaintance find her in that penurious, disgraced state. She points out that to the Wizarding World, she was nothing more than a _Mudblood whore_ and Harry leaps back at the venom in her words.

“He wouldn’t have sneered at me.” She says. “I know he would never have left me- not when it mattered the most. Which is why I couldn’t let him see me like that.” Lily wipes the wetness off her eyes. It’s a story she hasn’t shared with Harry, and he gives her the space she needs. But she continues- because she’s desperate for him to see something.

“We had a falling out, back in school. He called me a Mudblood once.” Harry tenses like a pulled bowstring, palms curling into fists, but Lily reaches for his hands to gently pry the fingers open. “He came and apologised- sat up all night in front of the Gryffindor portrait hole, I’m told- I didn’t forgive him then, but by the time I was ready to, he had already fallen to You-Know-Who. I never spoke to him after that.”

“He became a Death Eater?” Harry asks. Lily winces, but suddenly the fact that Harry has been rooming with children from dark wizards hits her. “Was he a Slytherin? I heard that was where the Dark Lord mostly recruited from.”

“Yes, darling. He was a Slytherin, and still is, from what I hear.” Lily’s lips curl into a fond smile as Harry’s head tilts inquisitively. “He’s your Head of House.”

The boy jumps up, sputtering uselessly. “Snape? We’re having _Snape_ for dinner?”

And before Lily can say anything more, Harry flees to his room, and doesn’t come back until the doorbell rings. She was expecting Severus to Floo, as usual, but answering the door has a pleasant sort of warmth to it. (Call it her Muggle upbringing, but it doesn’t feel like a home if there never has been a guest through the front door.) She lets him admire the garden with a proud smile and takes him in through the living room.

It’s not a big house, so they’re dining at the kitchen table, and they’ve already set it with roast beef and stew, and salads from the fresh backyard produce. Harry flies down the stairs, dressed up in his best (that is to say, Lily’s old) well-starched robes, having slathered his hair with Sleekeazy’s to a lustrous shine, and greets them with a polite bow.

He’s mild-mannered and pleasant throughout the dinner, which baffles both Lily and Severus. Gone was the boy who had been fuming and plotting murder of this ‘old friend’, and Harry smiles through pearly teeth in a remarkably Lockhart-esque manner while he hands Severus the salad platter.

For Severus, whose experiences with Harry tended to have blatant displays of magic that ended in him drinking and ranting to Lucius, this paragon of conduct is highly suspect. The smile grates on his nerves, and he narrows his eyes at boy.

“Do I need to worry about being poisoned?” He asks, and Lily’s surprised. She knows him well and realises that it’s in jest. She just hadn’t expected Severus to be close enough with her son to engage in playful banter.

“No, sir. The _salad_ isn’t poisoned.”

It takes Severus a little while to realise what game is afoot. He waits until dessert, when Harry graciously serves him a bowl of fruit-topped caramel pudding. Severus snorts. Lily stares.

“Draco, that little loudmouth, must have told him about the Malfoy Yule Ball.”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t break composure. “Actually, it was Nott.”

“Ah.”

Lily looks a little lost- and mouths the word ‘Slytherins’ to herself. Severus quirks a smile and shakes his head. The ball isn’t relevant until Harry does receive an invitation, and merely Severus’s good word to Lucius Malfoy isn’t going to secure that.

He knows how it’s like; an invitation to the Malfoy Yule Ball is the best hope of making connections for a promising career. Severus has been attending it ever since his sixth year, once Lucius succeeded as Lord Malfoy and owled him an invite. At that time, it had been an act of charity to a needy acquaintance- with the intention of creating a debt; they had only become close after Severus took the mark in his seventh year and fought beside Lucius in multiple raids.

However, unfortunately for Harry, Lucius is in perfect health. Draco isn’t likely to succeed him unless the war breaks out again, or the Malfoy patriarch gets assassinated.

He looks at the boy, who doesn’t appear to be let down by his failure at curry-favouring Severus.

The dinner goes wonderfully, and Severus and Lily trade barbs at their experimental failures while recounting successes, and Harry is content to remain quiet and analyse Severus from the side. When the Potions Master stands to leave, Harry wandlessly sends the empty dishes flying to the sink, where they start washing themselves. Lily sighs and mutters about overdependence on magic, and shows Severus to the door.

He murmurs his adieu, and is about to step out when Lily leans in and pecks him gently on the cheek.

Severus’s mind short-circuits for a moment, before he regains his bearings and nods briskly.

“Goodnight, Sev.” There’s a faint touch of red to Lily’s cheeks that he knows is mirrored on his.

He walks back, instead of apparating, which lets him process that kiss. It’s nothing, really, just a polite brush of her lips, but it’s the first physical contact he’s had with Lily since they were children. She used to drag him around these very streets by the hand, and he used to treat her scraped knees and elbows with his mother’s salves.

It’s hopeless. Severus sighs.

He sees Lily again the day after, to start their combined project on improving Wolfsbane. It’s something Dumbledore has asked him to do, but he hasn’t told Lily that. Severus’s position as a spy remains in absolute secrecy, and as far as he knows, not even the Order is aware. Of course, they know Dumbledore has inside men- plural, of course, the old goat always has a back-up plan- but as far as Severus is concerned, he’s just a ‘filthy Death Eater’ come to spy on Hogwarts.

It’s alright, he has made his peace with the role. He isn’t doing it for the glory, he’s doing it for _Lily._

And it doesn’t look like Lily has returned to the Order, either, so the Lycanthropy Cure is ‘just a pet project’ that Severus has come up with.

The second elephant is acknowledged then- Lily steers him into his potions lab and asks him squarely- is the research for the Dark Lord? Because if it is, she’ll have no part of it.

Severus honestly answers that it isn’t. And so, the research will be kept a complete secret, just between the two of them, until it was ready to be published.

They study texts regarding lycanthropy quietly until lunch, when Severus puts together some egg sandwiches and Lily begins to ask him about being in _his_ service. He glosses over the details- the torture and massacres, the burning down of Muggle towns, the violence and barbaric cruelty- and tells her that it was not what he had hoped for.

There is no equality in the Dark Lord’s service, just another power struggle. But there, one’s worth wasn’t measured by blood or heritage, it was measured in usefulness. Wealth, magical power, intelligence, political pull and simply the ability to follow orders.

Lily confesses that it hasn’t been as bad as she thought a dictator regime would be, there is no Muggleborn holocaust or culling going on. His thoughts suddenly flash to Rowle’s latest mission and Severus hides his reaction appropriately.

After lunch, they’re back to sharing ideas and reading texts to have some basics to work with. While the existing Wolfsbane potion is a good start, it is not enough. Aconite could play a large role in countering the moon’s pull on the baser instincts of lycanthropes, but preventing the transformation is still an unknown factor.

Fluxweed is an underappreciated plant, its applications limited to Polyjuice, and Lily remembers that Harry once mentioned something about feeding fluxweed to goats and having them transform, somehow. She doesn't recall the book, but it’s somewhere to start, and Severus waits until she’s gone to make a new diet-plan for his lab-rats.

.....................................

Harry often comes over for getting bruises treated- some of which are magical and likely to be from backfired spells. Severus is aware that the boy is experimenting on the side- it’s his nature, and he _is_ Lily’s son.

The red-haired mother and son duo holds such curiosity and passion for anything magical, and Severus can only grimace and treat the boy’s injuries while the brat narrates whatever whimsical tale has gotten him into the latest scrape. Bu chance, Harry catches sight of the tomes on his reading desk, perking up at the titles. “Lycanthropy, professor?”

Severus hums, casting magic-cancelling spells on Harry’s blistered arms. ‘Finite’ isn’t enough for unknown and experimental spell damage; he will have to remove all traces of magic before casting basic healing charms and applying the salve. “The Wolfsbane potion can be improved upon. The pain of transformation, for example.” It’s a safe answer, but the boy is frowning thoughtfully.

“Improve? Why not try to remove the condition entirely?”

The potions master narrows his eyes at the boy. “If you had read anything on the history of potioneering, you would know that a proper cure is what researchers have been working on in vain for centuries.”

The brat shrugs. “I’m assuming, from the way lycanthropy spreads, that the venom secreted in werewolf blood or saliva affects the victim at a cellular level. It could possibly alter the structure of their cells, and hence, the entire body, leading to the monthly transformation.”

“Your point being?”

“I’m just saying that we’ve been tackling the wrong problem, Professor. Looking from the wrong angle. I’m sure that even aether has nothing to do with lycanthropy- it’s transfiguration, unlike the Animagus transformation.”

Severus is interested. The brat has drawn the parallels- “Muggles can be werewolves, but not animagi.” But the boy is missing a key point. Animagi is a very advanced _transfiguration._

“No, sir. The Animagus transformation is a very physical illusion-intricate and cellular, but an illusion nonetheless. It doesn’t affect the mental prowess beyond a small extent. A proper animal _transfiguration_ would result in the victim losing their mind for the duration. That’s alteration to the genetic level. Lycanthropy is just like that- temporary transfiguration of the gene. A werewolf is a mindless beast.

It’s simple Muggle science, Professor. Reverse-engineering the transformed gene could produce the cure.”

The boy has spouted many alien terms, but Severus is intelligent enough to deduce the meaning. “And how, pray, do you propose to ‘reverse-engineer’ the gene?”

Harry huffs in amusement- it is obvious Severus is humouring him. “Well, we’ll need something to see ridiculously small things. And a transformed werewolf. And then, we transfigure the structure we see, making minor changes that can restore the addled beast into a sane human. Purely theoretical, of course.” He adds hastily. “I based it off that article in Transfigurations Today.”

Indeed the boy would have read it. “Don’t mention this ‘hypothesis’ to your Mother.” Severus warns. Harry nods, he knows she will not take it well. In fact, the boy better not preach on the article ever, lest it reach the Dark Lord’s ears and get him carted off to assist Rowle.

“But _you_ would not mind, would you, Professor?” Harry asks, smug. Severus internally curses; Draco must have also boasted about his occasional dabbling in the Dark Arts. (His dratted godson has little to call a vocal filter, it seems.) Not much lecturing he can give the redhead on ethics without coming off as a hypocrite.

...................................


	15. Chapter 15

They’re in Severus’ kitchen, discussing about the possible use of fluxweed (Severus’ discreet experiments are slowly paying off as the rats begin to fluctuate between genders and fur colouring) when Harry knocks, and lets himself in.

Lily’s often found in Severus’ house, so this has become a common occurrence these days. Harry just hands Lily a letter and waits.

It’s from Draco Malfoy, apparently, inviting Harry to the Quidditch World Cup final to be hosted in Devon. And a friendly stay at the Manor for the week of the match.

Lily’s intrigued at Harry’s newfound desire to attend a Quidditch match, after years of indifference to the sport. Severus snorts into his tea and remarks that it’s merely a networking tactic, which Harry only smiles slyly to.

The red-haired witch is sceptic, and it is at Severus’ assurance of the Malfoys refraining from anything nefarious when the dust has only just settled that she relents. Harry beams at them and packs promptly; to not compromise the ‘safety and insignificance of Cokeworth’, he waits in Diagon Alley for the portkey to Wiltshire.

................................

Harry reins in his emotions at the sight of Malfoy Manor. He has been portkeyed to a gazebo with the best view of the manor and its sprawling grounds, obscene in the display of wealth. It’s no secret that the Malfoys’ are one of the most affluent (and influent) Pureblood families, what with Draco flaunting his pearl-button shirts and silk robes.

But the actual sight of it isn’t something Harry was prepared for. He inhales slowly, and lets the elf (Merlin, so that’s what a House-elf is like!) pop his baggage away and lead him to the manor’s entrance hall.

It’s elaborately done, in baroque style with white marble and gilded mouldings. There are sculptures and antiques on pedestals through the length of the hall, and the ceiling is painted and gilded to depict the sky outside.

Mrs Malfoy accompanies Draco in the entrance hall, and the boy nearly vibrates with excitement and requires a stern hand on his shoulders to maintain decorum. Narcissa Malfoy’s nose is slightly wrinkled when she sees Harry, nevertheless, the lady smiles thinly and welcomes him before letting Draco lead him inside.

The blond boy takes him to the tea room and offers a platter of crumpets and jam, and then to the Quidditch pitch in the manor grounds. The boy flies around while Harry explores the surroundings- there’s an orchard of various fruit-trees, an ancient grove a bit to the North, a small artificial lake to the West and the rest of the grounds are covered in woody forests. There’s also a garden on the West side of the Manor, with an aviary, a magical hedge and rosebush maze.

It’s a while before they return indoors, Draco having flown beside Harry while exploring the grounds. They’ve spotted many plants in the woods that are useful in potions, and the next thing Draco wants to show are the potions lab and the duelling room. Harry’s interested in the vast library as well, having heard Snape mention it often to his mother.

Lucius Malfoy’s crates of dirty goods are still hidden in Cokeworth, where Harry can get his fill of them; but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any more interesting artefacts in the manor. It is almost dinner by the time they’re done, and Draco offers to show Harry to his bedroom- in the same wing and floor as Draco’s, and the blond rushes out to change for dinner.

Harry spots his luggage near the bed- it is thankfully unopened; he has been worrying about the house-elves putting away his belongings in the wardrobes (and subsequently discovering Harry’s stock of illegal books, experimental creatures and half-done tinkering works.) The trunk has been expanded to make room for it all, and he picks out his best outfit- Lily has bought him a plain, but new set of robes, and showers before heading down to the dining hall.

The hall is magnificent, and the long, oaken table can easily seat for a banquet. But they are only using one corner of the table; and Harry doesn’t get put on the farthest end like he had initially thought he would.

Mr and Mrs Malfoy are indifferent to his presence beyond the initial greetings, and Draco keeps up the conversation in their stead. The food is comparable to Hogwarts feasts, and Harry wonders if they eat like this every day, or if it’s just to show off.

Later, Draco drags him to the library under a subtle mental compulsion, and Harry has the time of his life.

The very next day- Monday morning, to be precise, they leave for the World Cup campsite. Mr Malfoy reluctantly offers Harry his arm, while Narcissa takes Draco, and after a terribly uncomfortable moment, they land at the apparation point in the Devon moors. They are quickly directed to a stone cottage at the campsite by frazzled-looking Ministry employees.

The Malfoys seem disgruntled at the fact that no carriage has been offered- ignoring the fact that the path between the tents are too small to fit a carriage through; and even more upset at having to talk to Muggles.

“Good morning,” The patriarch says snidely- as if wishing ill, while the Muggle site-manager gapes at their robes. “The site was booked a week ago, under the name Malfoy.” He looks expectantly at the Muggle, who doesn’t regain his bearings, but scans the list nonetheless.

“Ah, yes- just round the corner, by the road. Payment?”

It’s Harry’s turn to gape when Lord Malfoy replies that it has already been wired. The aristocrat shoots him a look that is both snobbish and smug. He hadn’t known that the patriarch would know how to wire-transfer to Muggle banks.

Their plot is rather large, and when the tent pulls itself up under Elvish magic, it dwarfs the others around it- it’s a marquee of peach and gold stripes, and they enter into a miniature version of the Malfoy Manor’s parlour. There are peacocks wandering inside, which are promptly ushered out by Lord Malfoy, while two house-elves set the garden up.

The tent comes with a solarium and attached greenhouse, where they have tea with Lady Malfoy, before Draco is allowed to drag Harry out to explore the rest of the camp. They make their way through the campsite, sneering at the other campers’ pathetic attempts to blend in with Muggles.

They find Crabbe at the same site, as well as Bulstrode. Harry hasn’t spoken much to the girl beyond the required niceties, but she and Draco animatedly discuss the odds, while Crabbe quietly trails behind Harry. They find Goyle at the stalls, where Draco splurges on a pair of omniculars, green scarves and as many figurines as his pockets can hold, while Bulstrode gets herself a Krum figurine and poster. Harry isn’t here for the game, so he wanders around chatting up as many people as he could.

There are people from five continents- he speaks to a group of American wizards trying to set up a four-storeyed tent and learns about the American Wizarding community. The next of his targets are witches from Brazil trying to set up a barbecue grill, a pair of excitable Hungarian wizards (one claims to be related to Krum, although no one believes it) and camouflaged teenagers sneaking into the Irish camps to lay traps for leprechauns. He even runs into a tent full of exquisitely beautiful women and spends the afternoon with them, learning rudimentary Slavic and listening to creature stories.

There are nations of them- beautiful and deadly Veela, nocturnal Vampires (apparently, other than the infamous Transylvanian covens, there is a tropical coven as well: a little south of Bahamas) and the Veela make a brief mention of Nagas, Fae and High Elves in different places. It is amazing, but most of them are in danger of being hunted and trafficked, or simply due to lack of habitat and food. Apparently, it’s quite novel for the Veela too, to have someone listen to them without drooling or getting aroused. A shimmering blonde by the name of Dina even tries to flirt with him and fails- and promptly blames it on Harry’s prepubescent mind.

It’s past dusk when Harry leaves the Veela tent, and realises that perhaps he isn’t as immune to their thrall either. Just not in the way most people did.

Harry finds a very red-faced Draco near the stone cottage of their Muggle site manager, and the blond looks like he’s about to throw a tantrum.

“Where were you! The match is in two hours!”

He narrows his eyes at Draco and reminds the boy that there is more to life than Quidditch. But the other boy is right, the match is in two hours, and Harry needs to shower and make himself presentable. Besides, he’s been dying to observe how magical tents dealt with plumbing.

An hour later, Narcissa Malfoy waits irritably in the parlour while the boys primp themselves up, using liberal amounts of lotions and creams, and they only come down twenty minutes later. Mr Malfoy hasn’t arrived yet, and when the blond man does, another twenty minutes later, Harry swears he can smell Glossyhart moisturiser and jasmine bath oils on him.

Harry does look out of place in his plain black robes and bright auburn hair, but it’s alright- no one dares to point it out in the presence of Lord Malfoy. They run into the Weasley clan at the top box, and the Malfoys promptly scowl and wrinkle their noses, as if they’ve smelled dung, while Harry pays the redheads no mind and settles beside Draco. Fudge comes in next, accompanied by the Bulgarian delegation, and Harry is elated when they settle behind him.

That pleasure is cut short when he gets identified by the Minister as a Weasley- due to his poor quality of robes and red hair, and even more after Edwin Potter and his family settle in front of them.

Mr Potter doesn’t acknowledge the Malfoys, although the Weasleys are pulled into various one-armed hugs, and the overgrown man-child pushes his spawn forward to greet the Minister.

Harry learns that the names of his half-siblings (apart from Edwin Potter) are Rosalind and Daniel. All have the signature mop of hair, although it is quite brown in the last child. He pays no more attention, until the Minister greets Lord Malfoy and his family, and realises that the other ‘Weasley’ was sitting in the _Malfoy group._

This is an anomaly, so naturally, it gets addressed. Harry is introduced, and he shakes the Minister’s hand while the man blinks- Evans isn’t a pureblood name, so he cannot think of any reason why Harry would be sitting with the Malfoys.

The younger four Weasleys flit their gazes between Harry and Mr Potter, while James Potter’s face lights in recognition, then darkens. He herds his children back to the front, while the older Weasleys are left wondering what just happened.

Harry seizes the time before the match to greet the Bulgarian delegation the way the Veela taught him to, with a silent prayer that they hadn’t tricked him with some obscene word. The Minister is surprised, but he smirks a little at his terrible pronunciation and greets him back.

There’s an excitable blond man in a yellow-striped Quidditch robe doing the commentary, and when he announces the Bulgarian mascots, Harry feels a flash of anger.

So that’s what the Veela were doing here- being showcased as an icon- as some low animal. How was that any different from being trafficked and put on display?

The Irish mascots are leprechauns, and they rain gold over the crowd. Not to be outdone, the Veela begin to dance, and Harry realises they’ve activated the thrall- for the people in the top-box are edging out of their seats.

His eyes dart towards Lucius Malfoy, who looks a little irked as he discreetly shoots a Stinging hex at his son for losing composure. Judging by the yelps, Lady Malfoy has done the same. The Bulgarian Minister, Dmitri Oblonsky, leans forward and whispers into Harry’s ear with a thick accent, “I see the Veela haf not affected you.”

Startled, Harry shrugs. “I met them in the tents earlier.”

Oblonsky tilts his head, puzzled. The conversation is interrupted when the commentator, Bagman, leaps to his feet and announces the arrival of the teams.

Harry tunes the rest of the match out, focusing on the money changing hands- really, that commentator wasn’t supposed to be running bets under the table, was he? Or by making conversation with some of the Bulgarian delegation and Mr Barty Crouch, who grouses throughout the game, but indulges in Harry’s curiosity regarding the Ministry.

Harry half-expects Lord Malfoy to join in at some point, but astonishingly enough, the patriarch has not taken his omniculars off, and when Harry subtly traces his line of sight, he realises the man is an avid Quidditch fan despite not having dropped his icy façade for a moment the whole night.

Draco is completely gone, not even bothering to swap insults with the Weasleys, although he lacks his father’s self-control. The boy jumps up, curses whenever Ireland gets fouled, and even whacks the unsuspecting Potter girl on the head by accident. The Potters are just as bad, James Potter and his long-haired friend change their bets and mutter in Bagman’s ear, and flash rude gestures when the mascots break out in mayhem. The children follow suit.

Although, Harry has to admit that the transformation of the Veela are beautiful- Minister Oblonsky groans behind him when the Veela start raining fireballs. Harry seizes the chance to ask the man about political negotiations with the Veela nation- to which the man only groans even more. Apparently, the Veela are a hard people to convince, and bringing them to the World Cup itself had been a nightmare. Mr Crouch, however, is interested, and starts of on a very interesting tangent of creature-wizard relations.

Bagman roars the score, magically amplified into a deafening boom, and Harry realises the match is over. Ireland has won, and the leprechauns start a little jig and rain more gold, while the Veela look forlorn as they return to their beautiful selves. Their dejection is mirrored on the Bulgarians’ faces (and Lord Malfoy’s, Harry realises as sneaks a peek at the man. The patriarch was supporting Bulgaria, as opposed to his son and most others in the English side of the top-box. The man catches Harry looking and immediately snaps back to his stony, superior attitude.)

Draco scampers out of the top-box to meet Krum, along with several others. Harry remains behind to bid formal farewells to the possible connections he had made- there’s the Bulgarian Secretary for Foreign Affairs, Mr Crouch of the International Affairs Office, Percy Weasley (wasn’t that a thought?) Minister Oblonsky (it was rather hilarious, how the man kept Fudge grunting and miming throughout the night) and, as he headed to the exit, the Veelas.

To say they were unhappy is an understatement- especially when Veela are as proud as hippogriffs, being insulted so spectacularly by the leprechauns is terribly upsetting, and as Harry kisses all their hands and bids them adieu, he’s sure that Minister Oblonsky will have to deal with a nasty fallout.

Dina pecks a kiss on Harry’s cheek, with a promise of being pen-pals (he definitely will take up that offer, getting a connection into the aloof Veela nation is a mouth-watering thought) and leave. They have an International Portkey due in three hours.

Draco is elated enough after getting Krum’s autograph on his shirt, (he would later swear never to wash it again, and pin it up above his bed) that he runs over the moment he sees a Veela talk to Harry, and socks him on the jaw. And then stares longingly after the departing Veela.

Harry climbs back to his feet and waits patiently until they are sent to bed after a hot shower, to remove his little paring knife and head to Draco’s room.

Draco stirs, and startles awake when he realises Harry’s straddling him, twirling the knife in his hands. The boy quails and tries to scream, but yet again finds himself under a body-bind. Harry drags the blade teasingly over his neck and cheeks, while Draco sobs silently, tears mixing with blood.

“Do you realise what mistake you made?” Harry asks sweetly, kneeling over the blond boy. His voice has a silky tone, his ministrations deadly, and fresh cuts weep blood over the silk sheets. “You will never defy me openly- if there are any _disagreement_ to be had, we will have them in the privacy of our rooms. Is that clear?”

He removes the Petrificus on the blond’s head- and Draco begins to sniffle. “I’m sorry, Milord!” He begs. “I’ll never do it again- please, please stop...”

It’s very satisfying, but Harry rolls his eyes: Draco’s so very dramatic. He hasn’t even cut _that_ deep, to be honest- mere grazing scratches that would sting a little and let enough blood to scare the kid. A few of his mother’s quick healing charms take care of the cuts, while a Scourgify vanishes the mess on the bed. He had anticipated the need and already cast Impervious charms over the sheets- so that it would not stain.

Draco is still crying, so Harry pulls out a handkerchief and wets it, before wiping the boy’s face and neck- to provide physical comfort, of course. If it gets rid of whatever little bloodstain might have escaped him, oh, well.

Never let it be said that Harry does not provide aftercare to his tortured minions.

With a pat on the head and a murmured order to go to sleep, Harry leaves Draco.

....................................


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Harry™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I think I shall update the tags from General to Mature. Because this fic _will_ contain immoral acts and discourses. And it's not the sexy kind of mature (yet) ;)

Harry wakes to shouts and screams.

He doesn’t figure Lord Malfoy to be a wife-beater, so it has to be something else.

There’s also the sound of stampeding people, and his door is blasted open as Lucius Malfoy in his dressing robes and pyjamas strides in and tells him to pull something on and get out of the tent- no packing, just a robe and his wand.

Harry complies, it’s an unknown threat, and he reaches the parlour to find the man waiting irritably, innumerable peacocks strutting around by his feet. His wife and son have already fled to safety, and Harry steps out of the tent, and watches Mr Malfoy cast the folding enchantments.

There’s a fire, not too far away, and people are scrambling hither-tither; the tent is hastily stowed into his pockets. Mr Malfoy grabs Harry’s arm and they duck curses and head to the woods.

“Death Eaters.” Malfoy replies, when Harry inquires. “It’s their form of... revelry.”

When Harry looks puzzled, the man adds. “Muggle hunting.” He’s visibly taken aback when the boy’s face suddenly splits into a toothy grin.

“Well, aren’t you one of them?” Harry asks. Malfoy freezes, but Harry has been sharing a dorm with junior Death Eaters for nothing. “Let’s go join the party.” Harry says, pulling the blond the other way.

Malfoy gapes. “They’re _Muggle_ hunting, Evans.” He says carefully. They’ve stopped running, and are merely staring at each other.

“Yep.” Harry smiles. “And I know you’re dying to join them, Mr Malfoy, so please don’t hold back on my account.” He twirls his wand and wraps his black robes tighter.

Lord Malfoy sighs- even he doesn’t know why he’s acquiescing the dratted Mudblood, but the man fumbles into his cloak pocket and pulls out a silver mask, replicating it with a ‘Geminio’ and handing it to Harry.

“Remember, I believe the Dark Lord has not authorised it, so if we get found out-”

“-you’ll be punished. I get it, now let’s go kill some Muggles?” Harry asks impatiently, donning the mask, while Lord Malfoy replicates a hooded black robe as well. They have to be shrunk to fit, and it’s still obviously child-sized.

Harry steps out of the woods, inhaling the fresh scent of freedom under his mask. There are people running this way, and he sends a few of his innovative curses at them. Beside him, Lord Malfoy seems to be attacking the running people as well, and Harry turns to hiss a warning at the man.

“Play around with the wizards all you like, but kill only the Muggle scum!”

Malfoy huffs, throwing a jet of brilliant white fire at a tent. “I’m aware, Evans. It’s not my first time.”

Harry spots a screaming Muggle woman and relishes casting the Cruciatus on her. “Unfortunately, Mr Malfoy, I have come to understand that your _Lord_ only sees dark-wizards as worthy. Let me remind you, that _all_ magic blood is valuable- and even the worst of blood-traitors can be swayed to our cause with the right...” Harry pauses, using a bamboo-splitting incantation that he had dug up from an ancient Chinese scroll to burst the woman’s legs into slices, _“...persuasion.”_

They fight their way closer to the largest fires, and get a sense of destination when one of the rogue Death Eaters cast the Dark Mark on the sky.

There are more fleeing people, and Harry wonders aloud why none of the idiots thought to apparate or use a trigger-portkey.

“Anti-apparation and portkey wards.” Lord Malfoy clarifies. “One of the- ahem, my colleagues must have cast it.” Harry nods, and they split up, to better attack more people.

Mr Roberts, the site manager, is being dangled and tossed around, while another Muggle family is getting flayed by a spell. Harry jumps into the mayhem with joy, throwing around as many spells as he can.

This is a prime opportunity to test out the entire range of spells he had found in Mr Malfoy’s stashed books, and also to try out the complex transfigurations he had been working on in the summer. One of his spells miss the herded-up Muggles and hits a masked Death Eater on the head- he screams as his skull gets split open by octopus tentacles growing out of it.

“Oi, dickhead, watch where yer casting!” One calls out to Harry, whom he replies to by flashing a rude gesture. A curse gets thrown back, which Harry defends with a flick of the wand.

Their attention turns back to the Muggle family, and Harry pushes the two Death Eaters back with a gust of wind and twirls his wand to demonstrate the best of his experimental spells.

There’s a bloody mess on the ground instead of people when several cracks of apparation sounds, and the two Death Eaters begin to throw spells at the intruders. There are about a dozen of them, and Harry joins, casting rapidly-

Giving his best against extremely skilled opponents.

His repertoire turns to completed, tested spells: both simple and complex- there’s a time and place for experimental magic; going against trained duellists in a matter of life and death is certainly not the appropriate one. He ducks from spells that he cannot recognise, jumps behind a burning tent, and throws an exploding charm at the ground. Dust flies, and in its cover, Harry throws more spells.

Things are getting desperate- how had these people even arrived here? Weren’t there Anti-Apparation wards cast? A spell grazes his shoulder, ripping the flesh open and burning immensely, and Harry cannot use that arm anymore. He switches his wand to the other hand, and puts up the best shields he can make.

Casting with both arms is a useful skill he had made use of the time-turner to learn.

There’s another barrage that bombards his shields- shattering them one by one, and Harry enlarges a stone into a boulder to hide behind instead.

It gets blasted, but a timely shield thrown his way saves him from getting crushed under the rubble.

Harry glimpses more Death Eaters- obviously to collect their fallen, so as to avoid leaving tracks and traces. A Death Eater grabs him towards another shield, and they begin throwing spells so that all the injured ones can be caught.

When there are no more white-masked bodies on the ground, Harry yells for them to leave and they disapparate in pairs.

“Evans.” The Death Eater behind him says.

It’s Malfoy. Harry doesn’t reply more than a grunt- throwing a Reductor at an approaching enemy’s head. “What are they? Aurors?”

“No, that department is quite incompetent, I dare say.” The wizard replies, putting up another shield and whirling a dust-storm at the attackers. “These are Hit-Wizards. Special task force, the DMLE’s elites.”

“I take it you’ve come across them before.” Harry laughs, throwing a lung-crushing curse at a Hit-Wizard. Harry cannot believe he’s fighting alongside Lucius Malfoy after having tortured the man’s darling son just hours ago. It’s too good to be true, but Harry relishes the feeling all the same, laughing in delight as he shoots the Cruciatus at another Hit-Wizard.

“Not that often, thank Merlin.” The blond replies, scanning the wreckage of the campsite behind his shield. The Death Eaters carrying the injured have mostly disapparated; it’s only them and another pair remaining.

One of the other pair shoots them a look and a nod, and they disapparate-

Or they try to.

“Damnation!” Malfoy curses. “They’ve put up wards of their own.”

Harry nods, and jerks his head towards the trees. Malfoy moves to call out to the other two, but Harry stops him, and attempts Legilimency to convey the instruction.

The Death Eater jerks in surprise and looks their way, before throwing transfigured objects and earth-shields at the Hit-Wizards. They all run to the cover of the woods, entirely on the defensive as they try to escape. When the other Death Eater pair comes close enough to be within earshot, Harry tells them to find a crowd to blend in, and then they split up again.

Lord Malfoy runs with Harry, feeling the Hit-Wizards catch up, until Harry suddenly levitates him up a tree. The Malfoy patriarch magicks him up in turn, and casts wards to mask their presence.

They’re precariously perched on a top branch under Featherlight charms, not daring to remove the Death Eater garments in case they are caught. While the mask and robes make them stand out as targets, it also masks their identity-

Explaining to concerned officials why Lucius Malfoy is hiding in a lonely tree with a half-blood minor is not worth the effort.

“Isn’t it grand, a Muggle-hating Mudblood?” Malfoy sneers, derision lacing his tone. They have to wait, and the silence is uncomfortable.

“I’m a half-blood, in case you haven’t noticed, Mr Malfoy.” He replies automatically.

“Not much difference, is there?” A pause. And then, “Please, humour me.”

Harry regards him with a pointed stare. “I don’t hate Muggles.”

“Oh?” The blond aristocrat is infuriating, with his condescending tone, leaning forward and rubbing his chin in pretend-interest. “I assumed from Draco’s words, that you were plotting the massacre of Muggles?”

Harry returns the barbed smile. “One does not need to harbour hatred towards sewer rats to justify their eradication. A highborn such as yourself must know that.” It’s a jab back at the Dark side’s pureblood propaganda to view Muggles as enemies.

An enemy is an equal.

Muggles are not equals, they are merely vermin.

Malfoy is silenced, and Harry can feel a shift in the intense grey gaze. He is being regarded in a new light. They can still hear the frightened crowd, and the occasional sounds of battle. Luckily for them, there is a group moving towards their tree, and they can soon remove their Death Eater outfits and join the people.

Lord Malfoy casts a disillusionment over them both and they wait.

There’s some commotion nearby, and they can hear someone shouting abuse at a house-elf. The voices drift away again, and the elf remains standing for a minute longer, before she tries to crack her head open on a tree trunk. Harry edges up the branch to get a better view, and when it’s safe to leave, Harry climbs down the branch and stuns the suicidal elf.

He then shrinks the creature and pockets her, and beckons Lord Malfoy to apparate them out.

They have to make a stop at the stone cottage to formally vacate the campsite. There are ministry officials there, and Malfoy throws his weight around a bit to get themselves out first. There are Aurors checking for any Death Eaters who might have remained, and it’s imperative that they make a quiet exit. Later, when Harry has been safely brought back to the manor, he has to send a hurriedly written letter to Lily stating that he’s safe and unharmed, before going to the patriarch’s study to get his injuries treated.

They put Essence of Dittany on the wounds- Narcissa Malfoy is trained in healing, but she will ask too many questions, and the Death Eater does not want to get an earful about dragging children into battles. The curse on Harry’s shoulder has cut deep into the flesh, a nasty red gaping wound, and is bandaged up subtly. Lord Malfoy has a severe burn on the back of his neck that he reluctantly exposes for Harry to apply the Dittany- he had been caught in the spellfire when they were running away from the Hit-Wizards.

He sends the man a pointed look- how is he even planning to hide those wounds from his wife?

The blond answers that it’s none of Harry’s business, which is quite fair, to be honest.

Lily sends Harry a worried letter, asking him to come home- which Harry promptly refuses to do. He has loose ends to take care of, as well as a magnificent library to peruse. Draco is terrified of him again, and Harry sighs- He isn't opposed to defiance, per se. Just not in public, where people Harry intends to woo could witness it.

He eases the blond boy out of the terror by flaunting his charming side, polite inquiries about things that interest Draco, a bit of subtle Legilimentic compulsions and even agrees to a game of Quidditch when Crabbe and Goyle come over.

Harry’s not a fan of Quidditch, and hasn’t attended a single match during his time at Hogwarts. He’s not a bad flier, either, but the lack of interest in the game lets Draco earn some points over him, keeping him happy and essentially recovering the boy’s loyalty.

Narcissa Malfoy is rightfully suspicious of him, so Harry keeps to himself unless it’s Draco dragging him out of the library to show something new. The evenings are often spent trying to sneak into Lucius Malfoy’s office to get a better look at the books and artefacts there, and he gets caught on the second try.

The first try had him overhearing some sort of confidential Death Eater conversation about political opponents, and he boldly broaches the subject when Malfoy pulls him into the office and wards it heavily, directly asking what the hell he’s playing at.

The Dark Lord is worried about the Asiatick Sorcery Association’s budding relationship with the Hogwarts Headmaster. They also seem to have friendly relations with the French ministry, who are all ‘progressive Mudblood-supporters’ loud in their opposition to the Dark Lord.

The Dark side has made attempts to garner support from the Continental Circle- a council of the Moste Olde pureblood families, but the Circle is self-preserving. They will not rush headlong into a political battle against democratically-elected powers who can dissolve their ancient council.

The A.S.A. is a neutral party, but their associations with Dumbledore are worrying. Malfoy has been tasked with ensuring that their discussions remain... unfriendly.

Lucius rubs his head in irritation. Evans has overheard enough of his conversation with Yaxley to get them into trouble. But knowing the boy, he is more likely to be coerced into a deal than be turned over to the Ministry or Dumbledore and his troupe of do-gooders.

Evans wants a favour, apparently. An undecided favour, knowing the brat, which could possibly be more dangerous than any mission Lucius had undertaken for the Dark Lord. It says something- that he’s more likely to trust the evil dictator of Britain than the schoolboy rooming with his son.

Said redhead schoolboy smiles sweetly, cajoling Lucius into a deal- a favour in exchange for not mucking up the Dark Lord’s mission.

When the week draws to a close, the Malfoy patriarch is glad to see the child gone.

.........................................


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few paragraphs of this chapter contain graphic descriptions of an injury (er... wound, pus, flesh, that sort of stuff.) If that makes you uncomfortable, skip it. (It's just a couple of paragraphs, not much.)

Harry locks himself in the toilet and levitates the mirrors into position. He sheds his robe and stares at the blackening flesh of his right arm. The curse wound has not healed, and has spread down to his elbows. The cut has not closed, and Harry can feel something disgusting- likely to be pus- inside it.

He’s attempting to clean it in the Muggle method, after several failed attempts at magicking the mess away.

Gingerly, he slides the pair of forceps into the cut on his shoulder, and pulls the layers of purplish black skin open, peering into the mirrors. The sight makes bile rise in his throat- the flesh under his skin is putrescent yellow, oozing some foul-smelling black slime. The wound has blackened the skin down his arm and chest, but it is still vital. The curse has to be stopped before it does lasting harm, but Harry does not know what to do about it.

He hasn’t encountered anything like this before.

The black pus is mopped up, and he takes another look at the wound- it’s yellow and riddled with little holes- and pukes into the toilet.

When he has cleaned up the wound and bandaged it up, he scribbles a note to Malfoy and sends it off with Mephisto, telling the man to meet him in the forest. He then scrambles out of the house, to the woods, and collapses under a tree. It feels repulsive, his arm, and the image of tiny holes oozing black flash repeatedly in his mind.

It’s terrifying- he doesn’t want to die yet, not when there’s so much to be done. Not like this- pathetically sobbing over his rotting flesh. But in the end, control gives way to anguish, and Harry cries, aloud and desperate, clenching on the wound and tugging, as if he could rip the festering chunk of flesh off his body.

By the time Lucius Malfoy apparates into the woods, he has vented enough to compose himself, although his throat is still raw and his appearance haggard.

“I understand that you are calling in the favour from last week?” Malfoy asks. Mephisto has probably interrupted the man’s breakfast, judging by that annoyed expression.

“Yes. I’d like to find a covert healer. To ensure that our involvement in the World Cup riot remains hidden, of course.”

Grey eyes narrow. “I thought we had an agreement?”

Harry huffs. “I assure you that it is in your best interest to find me a healer who will not blabber about my injury.” He shrugged, gingerly moving his damaged shoulder. Malfoy wants to see the wound, and he can hear a sharp gasp when he bares his right upper arm to the patriarch.

The man prods it with his wand, spreading the cut to inspect the honeycomb-like flesh inside. Harry shudders in revulsion, the images flashing in his mind again, but Malfoy offers an anchoring grip on his arm and bandages it back.

 _“I’m_ not familiar with this curse, which makes it obvious that you’ve just had a run in with very questionable people. We can go to a hospital and try to pass it off as you getting hit by the Death Eaters during the riot, but I doubt a healer could do you much good.”

Harry nods. He had figured that a curse-specialist would be more useful.

“Have you asked Severus?” Malfoy asks. Harry shoots him an ‘Are-you-dumb?’ look. Snape is clever enough to not fall for their lies. Besides, the man is too chummy with his mother for his comfort.

Malfoy sighs and tells him to make himself presentable- they are going to apparate to France, to a contact of the Malfoys. Within a moment, they’re off.

.......................................

Lily isn’t concentrating on their potions project. Severus nudges her out of her reverie and throws a fistful of knotgrass into the cauldron in the nick of time to prevent an explosion. The potion bubbles half-heartedly and sinks back into the cauldron.

“Knotgrass is out of the question.” Severus crosses out that ingredient on his notebook. Then he turns to Lily seriously. “What happened? You’re not yourself.”

When Lily reveals that she’s merely worried about the Death Eater riots at the Quidditch World Cup, Severus scoffs. His nonchalant tone bothers her- Severus isn’t a parent; he wouldn’t know what it’s like to sit in front of the radio for hours, hoping that his children aren’t harmed, and then not see them for days afterwards.

Harry did assure her that he’s fine, but Lily knows her son. He has been moving carefully, and winces when he thinks she isn’t looking. He’s in pain, and Lily is sure he had been caught in the attack. She also knows why he’s lying- to ease her and make sure that she won’t bring this up when Harry wants to visit his friends again.

He’s a brave boy, but Lily wishes he would open up a little more about his problems.

Meanwhile, Edwin... Knowing James, he would have taken his children along to the match, and Lily cannot even know if Edwin got away unharmed. James has always been a little... irresponsible. He would have likely gotten into the heat of the moment and leapt into battle with Sirius, and only thought of the children afterwards.

Or perhaps, he would have grown up? It has been nearly twelve years since she last saw James after all.

Severus is surprisingly patient when she tells him this. He doesn’t understand, but he’s willing to sit by her and learn what it’s like. They’ve taken a break from the potion- throwing knotgrass, while cutting off the explosion, has nullified the Wolfsbane. They will have to start over.

Severus fixes them hot chocolate, the way Mrs Evans used to do, and they sit in the kitchen. It’s evening and Lily savours the scent of ground cinnamon and clove in the chocolate. It eases the tension off her brows, although she will not be fully at peace until Harry comes home. Her eyes flicker to the wall clock every few minutes.

The potion is the last thing on her mind, and she realises Severus is trying to distract her from her anxiety by talking about Hogwarts.

They end up accidentally mentioning Edwin Potter.

The black-haired boy is a trigger for both her and Severus, it would seem, and their quiet moment of nostalgia devolves into a heated argument- Severus loathes the sight of her son and tends to bully the boy at every chance. The sour potions-master uses colourful abuse to describe the eleven year-old, and Lily retorts that Severus hasn’t ever minded that Harry is a ‘repulsive Potter-spawn’.

She regrets it the moment the words leave her mouth- Sev has an obvious soft spot for Harry, and truthfully, he _isn’t_ a Potter. Severus bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything more- which is when Lily seizes the chance to chide her friend for the cheap behaviour.

“Tell me, Sev, does bullying an eleven year old child help you one-up James? Does it erase your experiences? And stop putting yourself as the victim- you always gave as good as you got. It’s very childish and pathetic.”

Severus scowls nastily- he doesn’t want to accept her words, accept that the miniature James sitting in his classroom and spreading tales of Greasy Snivellous- is but a young child. His mind flashes to the way that boy treats his disinherited brother; Potter is a vulgar, licentious brat and it’s a wonder that Harry hasn’t sealed his mouth permanently with some experimental curse.

The recent Levicorpus incident comes to the tip of his tongue- but Severus empathises with Harry- that it is not something he would have liked his mother to know. And so, he doesn’t say anything, and lets Lily berate him some more, scowls irritably and heads to brood on the couch.

He doesn’t leave, though. Lily will work her anxiety to ridiculous levels if left to her devices; it is an ungodly hour and Harry hasn’t returned yet. At some point, Lily comes to sit by him, fingers restless and picking lint off her trousers. By morning, she is a wreck, and Point Me spells aren’t working either- Severus tells her to complete her morning ablutions before they go searching for Harry.

With Lily gone, he apparates to the police station and keeps an ear open for news. The serial killer hasn’t been caught (something that Lily better not _ever_ catch wind of) and Severus asks the constable for a red-haired teenager. Eventually, he ends up being cajoled by the fat constable into filing a missing-person form, and returns to Lily’s house.

The first thing he hears is noise- loud enough to put a Howler to shame, and then he realises that it’s Lily yelling. Glad that he isn’t on the receiving end, Severus enters the kitchen.

Harry has returned, and is in the middle of being appropriately scolded.

The boy looks apologetic, but Severus knows Harry well enough by now to realise that it’s completely faked. There is no remorse, zero, none whatsoever. He gets grounded and sent back to his rooms, and then Lily flops onto a chair, heaving and sighing loudly.

“I know he went to get himself treated.” Lily says abruptly, before Severus can ask. “He got hurt in the Death Eater attack that day, and didn’t want to let me know. But he still won’t tell me where he went.”

“Knockturn Alley?” Severus hazards a guess. There are a few cheap healers and quack doctors there, who are less likely to ask questions.

The redhead rubs her eyes tiredly. “I wish he’d tell me things like this- I’m his mother, for God’s sake!” Then yawns. “Can we work later?”

Severus agrees, patting her shoulder and telling her to go to sleep immediately, and heads to the police station. He has a constable to obliviate.

....................................

Hogwarts reopens at the start of September, as usual, and Harry reads about International Wizarding Affairs on the train. He had taken membership at the library and adjoining second hand bookstore in Diagon Alley and bought as much as he could on Wizarding politics.

It’s a moderately interesting subject and he makes tabs on the Asiatick Sorcery Association and the Continental Circle. The former is a society of migrants from the Asian countries, and the latter is an ancient council of Europe’s most influential Pureblood families. And despite being called a ‘Circle’, it is definitely a pyramid with tiers depending on lineage, influence and wealth.

Of course, there are more Pureblood societies that have wider membership extending to the purebloods of the Asiatick Assosiation, but the Continental Circle has absolute control over them. The A.S.A., on the other hand, offers membership regardless of blood status, and the present Chairman of the A.S.A is a Muggleborn, which is why the Purebloods in the Asiatic Association have recently begun to sympathise with the Circle’s propaganda.

When the Patil girls pop their head in to see if it was a free compartment, Harry smiles and lets them in. They are a Pureblood family with ties to the A.S.A. and will be very helpful when it’s time to take over the world.

When the feast begins, Harry sights potential members of the Asiatick Association: Ansel, Chang, Li, the Patils, Sherzai and Shafiq.

Chang, Patil and Shafiq are confirmed members- the latter two are old pureblood lines, the former happens to be the only daughter of the A.S.A’s Chairman Chang, the man who kept the various blood-status parties within the Association from going at each other’s throats. The Ansel family, whilst politically strong, is debatable; having migrated to France and then York early in the 1700s.

Harry decides to keep an eye on them all.

Term begins without much fanfare, Harry continuing with his three electives. Granger has dropped Muggle Studies, and he sees more of her, Abbott and Longbottom in the following days. Longbottom performs spectacularly in both Herbology and Potions (the latter being spectacular fails that Snape relishes tormenting the boy with) and he sees Abbott in Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures. Nothing new there.

Draco tags behind him with his cronies, and Nott joins him in experimenting and spell-practice in the evenings. Harry makes an extra effort to learn more about the Slytherin girls in his year, after having realised during the World Cup that he knew next to nothing about them.

There’s a half-blood girl, Davis, who is close friends with Greengrass, Goldstein and Li.

There’s his first access point, and Harry slyly begins to increase contact with them. Greengrass is, of course, suspicious that he’s after the girls, and keeps a wary distance, but Li is easily won over with his intelligence. Goldstein is affable enough, but he seems to have the hots for Greengrass, and is also wary of him.

Oh, well. There’s plenty of time.

What has changed the most, however, is Defence Against the Dark Arts. Thimblefond has set off on another adventure, and replacing him is Dumbledore’s old friend, Alastor Moody.

The first thing Harry hears about the man is that he has a magical eye that can see through walls, clothes and even the back of his head. The second is that half of Azkaban’s residents are there thanks to Moody.

Harry doubts he can hoodwink a formidable auror.

The first night, he carves a chunk of meat off an enlarged mouse and transfigures it into a flesh patch that he can insert into the wound on his shoulder. Malfoy’s curse specialist in Luxembourg had taken off the rotting curse, and etched runes into his inner muscles and bones to stabilise the wound and strengthen his arm. But the rot had eaten away a pound’s worth of his flesh, and much of the remaining muscles have been rendered porous. A pocket remains after treatment, covered by two thick flaps of skin- and the patch of flesh will be used to fill the pocket- hiding it from the eyes of Mad-Eye Moody.

The man may look through clothes, but surely he will not X-Ray him!

The first class is enough for Harry to realise that he will need more than a flesh-pack to escape Moody. The ex-Auror scans the class in paranoia throughout the lesson, and snaps with the slightest provocation.

“Constant Vigilance!” Moody barks, throwing a Body-Bind at Finnegan passing notes under the table. Goyle gets cursed with some sort of indigestion spell when he tries to eat a sandwich behind the man’s back.

At this rate, it is only a matter of time before Moody discovers the patch of flesh and the cursed wound under it. Harry will have to take a leaf out of this new professor’s book and become paranoid himself. Fight fire with fire indeed.

............................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google 'Trypophobia' and thank me later. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) You'll get a gist of the injury. (Personally, they remind me of the underside of a kind of pancake my mother regularly makes, and so the pictures make me hungry...)
> 
> And did I warn you that this story was slowly getting more dark? I think I did, hmm... if the new tags haven't given it away. 🤔 Oh well, enjoy. ⭐️^_^💧  
> And thanks to y'all for sticking by The Orchard without being alarmed at my take on Dark!Harry.


	18. Chapter 18

“Good luck for the match. The Hufflepuffs, is it?” Harry said, casually dropping beside Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe at the Ravenclaw table and filling his plate with sliced fruit and sandwiches.

This is not a new occurrence, so they hardly pay any attention, while Chang looks nervous. True, they’re not playing Gryffindor, so Ravenclaw actually has a fair chance to win, but the last time they went up against Diggory, they had lost, Diggory catching the snitch and beating the ‘Claws by a narrow ten points.

“You’re not coming to watch, are you?” Edgecombe asks him. Of course Harry isn’t. He has a potion brewing in one of the abandoned classrooms in the dungeons, and a mirror to tinker on.

Diggory passes by the table, and the girls all perk up, giggling. Harry shakes his head- half the school population has had a crush on Diggory, and the other half worships his charisma. The Hufflepuff Captain smiles at Harry, and he nods back. “Good luck.”

Goldstein scowls at the Slytherin scandalously. “Whose side are you on?”

“Neither.” Harry smiles blandly and picks up his bag, stealing a cinnamon roll from Chang’s plate. He’s been on friendly terms with Diggory after the duel, occasionally joining the boy’s study group to get sneak-peeks at the NEWT curriculum. He has also successfully infiltrated Chang’s and Ansel’s groups as well, the helpful prodigy tutoring them for the OWLS. Harry also helps Sherzai and her little group of firsties with classes- earning some simmering animosity in his own house for helping Gryffindor Mudbloods. But then, he’s been associating with the likes of Granger and Longbottom for a while now, and the Slytherins haven’t been able to do anything about that.

Ravenclaw wins the match, as Harry learns at dinner. He’s still at the eagles’ table, lending one ear to Ansel’s blow-by-blow account of Cho Chang’s spectacular fifty-feet dive to steal the Snitch out of Diggory’s fingers.

The Hufflepuff table is a little subdued, and Harry smiles sympathetically at Diggory when their eyes meet. The badgers’ captain takes it in stride, like the good sport he is, and pats the miserable-looking Smith with promises of winning against Slytherin.

It’s into this lazy dinner-time atmosphere that Professor Burbage barges in, sobbing hysterically. McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey hurry down the High Table to comfort her, and the Muggle Studies professor blurts out that Trelawney has died.

Lavender Brown faints and the Great Hall erupts into chaos.

Harry makes sure to look sufficiently horrified, and follows the Slytherins out of the hall, heading to their dormitories while the teachers begin to head to the Divination tower.

In the safety of their dorm room, Harry smugly polishes his knife, while Nott sends him a knowing look. Draco picks up the silent conversation, and blanches when the realisation dawns on him. He rushes to pen a letter to his father, and is promptly stopped by the knife that flew past his ears and lodged itself on the door.

The next day, the school is in mourning. Many people loathed Trelawney, but she was only a poor, pathetic fraud who could not gather enough hatred for people to actually rejoice in her death. Most of them are pitying, some are horrified, some indifferent... Dumbledore gives a speech- Trelawney will be dearly missed, (many at the Slytherin table snort audibly) the fraud had served in the school for fourteen years and a half, she had suffered from liver and kidney diseases due to her alcoholic tendencies, but had been finally killed by mercuric poisoning...

The last statement is met by gasps.

Harry frowns thoughtfully. He hadn’t expected the Headmaster to discover the traces of cinnabar in the witch’s body. He’d been careful to mix her teas and wines with all sorts of carcinogenic substances- trace amounts of arsenic, battery-acid, ground radium he’d stolen from a London watchmaker... the cinnabar had only been a safety-precaution.

Well, at least it had worked.

The woman’s magic had held on as much as it could against the liver cancer and kidney failure, but the greedy hag probably added too much ‘saffron essence’ to her poisoned sherry. She must have been as blind as a bat by then end- the methanol in her wine ought to have done away with her eyes first.

Pity methanol-poisoning couldn’t bust the Inner Eye.

................................

Albus Dumbledore is worried, pacing in his office restlessly. Trelawney was killed by Muggle substances, although the headmaster hasn’t the slightest clue how the seer came by them.

He had turned the woman away when she came to his office a few months ago, drunk out of her wits and babbling about losing her senses and motor function. She had tumbled twice on her way out, and then collapsed at the foot of the spiral stairs, and vehemently refused to go to the Hospital Wing. While helping her back to the tower, the Headmaster had discovered the witch’s stash of dried starsleep fungus, a powerful narcotic, and he had been utterly disappointed. Since then, Trelawney had been on probation- and Burbage had been tasked with looking in on the Divination professor once a day.

Because of the alcohol and narcotic fungi, he had missed the obvious signs of poisoning.

Dumbledore feels responsible- it gnaws on his insides like a persistent parasite- he could have prevented it, he could have saved the seer.

Minerva places a gentle hand on his shoulder and steers the Headmaster to a chair. There is a limit to how many lives a single person can save, she says.

He sighs again, feeling terribly old.

Severus enters the office after a soft knocking. He had been studying Trelawney’s blood, and tells Dumbledore about the cinnabar. It appears to have been in the witch’s blood for ages, accumulating slowly and changing into toxin.

This is premeditated murder- someone has killed the seer, most likely to silence her. There is someone dangerous in Hogwarts, and Dumbledore asks Minerva and Severus to keep an eye out. He would have asked Moody, but the ex-Auror has become unreasonably paranoid over the years. Not even the most innocent of first-years will be left alone if Moody conducts an investigation.

Severus returns to his quarters and Floos over to Lily. She’s busying over her cauldron, working on iterations on the fluxweed. She waits until her potion is ready to be put under Stasis before heading to Severus’ slumped form on the couch.

He looks exhausted- they both do, to be honest- but this is rather different from Sev’s usual brand of tired. Lily runs her hands through his hair, frowning at the grease left by potions fumes. Then he tells her of the latest happenings at Hogwarts.

Trelawney is dead.

Severus is terrified that the Dark Lord has something to do with it. Lily coaxes his fear out with gentle words- they both know the significance of Trelawney. It has shaken the cold-faced potions-master so much, and he tells her another one of his dark secrets.

That Severus was the one to relay that fateful prophecy to the Dark Lord.

Lily smiles sadly, having suspected this for some time. Severus was her best friend- still is- and she has always been able to read him well. Whenever Sev lets his guard down, his face becomes very expressive.

She gently wipes his tears away, the burden of shame and guilt along with them. Severus is unguarded again, after a long time, and he cries silently onto her shoulder.

Morning comes with the sound of crows squabbling for food in the backyard, and Lily sends Severus up to shower while she whips something for breakfast. There’s cocoa with spices, and the potions-master seems to curl around the mug, eyes glazed in nostalgia. Lily curls up beside him on the couch, setting the tray of toast on her knees.

Quidditch matches are followed by weekends as usual- no student would be up for classes after partying through the night. Lily pesters Sev to tell her about the match, and he drones about the obnoxious yelling in the stands, the terrible form of Hufflepuff’s new chasers, Ravenclaw’s latest attack triad formation inspired from the last World Cup, and Chang’s spectacular dive.

The witch listens with a sly smile- Severus has always been fond of Quidditch, but the idiot never did bother to try out for the team when in school. He would have been a good player- not as terrific as James, who stole the show whenever he mounted a broom- but Severus would have been one of those quiet players who kept to strategy and stamina to win the game.

The potion master murmurs that he had refereed a few matches when Madam Hooch had been unavailable.

It’s a lazy morning, and Severus accompanies Lily on her grocery-shopping close to noon, and they work on the Wolfsbane till late into the night. With the reluctant excuse of grading (read: slashing and crossing out) pathetic essays, he returns to Hogwarts.

.....................................

Harry peers over Edgecombe’s shoulder into her Transfigurations text. “Try prolonging the arc in your wand movement. The smoother your arc, the cleaner your spell.”

Edgecombe is clutching a poorly transfigured porcupine, its quills shiny and silver. She had transfigured the porcupine into a pin-cushion in class, but it seems unwilling to shift back to its living animal state. Harry waves his wand, sending the creature into its pin-cushion form, and the fifth year opens her mouth- and then closes it abruptly. She’s still not used to the fact that a fourth year student can easily cast O.W.L. level spells.

The prolonged movement does the trick, and the girl is holding a living, breathing porcupine. Harry wonders idly on what would have happened if he had reversed both wand movements.

The porcupine is a pin-cushion again, and Harry reverses the wand movement and incantation- with a shrill squeal, the pin-cushion swells up with flesh and blood and bursts. With an apologetic smile, he vanishes the splatter and scours the blood off Edgecombe’s skirt.

There’s something wrong- in theory, the reversal of the wand and incantation both should reverse the magic. That’s another side project that he can add to his ever-growing list.

But first things first. The two girls seem traumatised, and he pokes into their mind gently and pushes the memory into a corner filled with junk memories. Recent reading has revealed that the kind of mind-magic he’s performing is called Legilimency. It’s a pity that it’s already discovered and studied, but Harry is satisfied by pushing its boundaries.

When the free hour is up, Harry offers to walk the girls back to their tower. Edgecombe rushes ahead to return a book to the library, leaving Harry with Chang. They pass by Diggory and the girl falls silent.

...................................

“You like him.” Harry steals the chair beside Chang, lips curving into a sly smile worthy of the Parselmouth founder himself. They’re in the library, a few tables away from the handsome Hufflepuff Captain and his friends.

Chang blushes hotly. “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugs. “No, I’m just very good at reading people.” The girl sighs in agreement. “Well, I can sympathise; he’s very fit. And popular.” Chang stares, and Harry responds by raising an eyebrow.

“Do _you_ like him?” She asks with mildly repulsed curiosity.

“Goodness, no!” Harry quips hurriedly. “But you’d have to be blind to say that Diggory isn’t objectively handsome.”

Chang tilts her head, gaze piercing. “Objectively.”

“Yes, objectively. For example, Veela are objectively beautiful, but that doesn’t mean all people drool over them.”

“All people _do_ drool over Veela, Evans.” Chang replies. When the redhead doesn’t reply, pausing to get that glazed, pensive look, she asks him what he thinks of her.

Harry bites his lip. “You’re pretty, I suppose. But it isn’t my opinion that you want to know, is it?” He asks, sneaking a glance at Cedric Diggory. They’re out of earshot, but Chang is still embarrassed. There’s another pause, as Harry studies the seventh-year brunet intently.

“You’re only going to hurt yourself, Chang.” He says at last.

Her breath hitched. “What is it?” She asks angrily. “I’m not pretty enough? Too fat? Not clever enough? That I’ve beat him in Quidditch?” The chair scrapes loudly on the stone floor as she stands up, earning a vicious look from the librarian. Chang pays Madam Pince no attention, slamming the textbook shut as she storms out of the library.

Harry waits for an hour before going after her; she will likely be in the middle of a breakdown, and that is the most opportune time to comfort her. The Ravenclaw girl furiously wipes her tears and storms away, intent on proving him wrong.

Sure, Cho Chang isn’t the delicately pretty and shy sort of girl her grandmother wants her to be, and maybe she _is_ more interested in Quidditch than being at the top of her class. Perhaps, she’s a little more apple than hourglass, but Cedric had always been really nice to her- even when Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff.

And if those dimpled, lopsided smiles that he gave her were anything to go by, Cedric does like her back.

So Cho waits for the next Hogsmeade weekend, intent on asking him out.

Autumn is giving way to winter, and the days are getting colder. After Thursday’s double potions, Cho glimpses Cedric returning from Arithmancy. She approaches him shyly and asks him if he’d like to spend the weekend with her, and he gently, but firmly rejects her- he says that he has already made plans with his friends.

She drags Marietta along with her to Hogsmeade, and tries to be subtle as she stalks Cedric. He wasn’t lying, the boy is surrounded by admirers. She settles at a faraway table and watches him sip his butterbeer and talk.

Marietta gets bored, eventually, and leaves with Roger, while Cho trails after Cedric. It’s afternoon, and he has parted from his group. He heads to Scrivenshafts, and Cho stops in her tracks when she spots Cedric kissing a girl behind a shelf.

Her brain stops functioning for a long moment, before names start flying around- it’s Eileen Chandler, a quiet Ravenclaw seventh year that Cho has never spoken to before. She can’t move, can’t look away, and it’s not until Cedric and Chandler leave the store that she can breathe properly.

Cho runs back to the castle, back to the dorm, and doesn’t come out for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding my characterisation of Cho Chang:  
> I headcannon Cho Chang as being part-Chinese (from her father) and part-Korean from her mother's side, and used Korea's beauty standards and gender inequality here as a plot-point. I imagine she'd be pressured by her mother's relatives- a powerful family of traditionalist purebloods (while her mother wouldn't have minded so much, I imagine her aunts and uncles have a lot to say about her choices) to keep appearances, while Cho, who's raised in the UK, wouldn't agree with their ideals wholly.  
> But then, I know how important family is in most Asian cultures; and she'd have a lot of pressure on that aspect as well.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, my darlings. (putting this warning for a couple of chapters containing upsetting content)
> 
> I confess I put aside posting this chapter because I dreaded losing readers. (But Itsevanffs bolstered my courage, and here's the first heavy chapter.)  
> So here goes nothing.

Cedric officially starts going out with Chandler on Halloween, and word gets out that Cho had asked him out. The Ravenclaw girls throw her pitying glances, because Chandler has always been a non-entity while Cho is popular; and she had still been rejected in favour of the former. Cho bites her tongue and holds her head high.

She avoids Harry Evans for the first few days, but runs into him again in the library. He doesn’t lord it over her, laugh in her face-

Evans wouldn’t ever do something like that. Why had she been so ashamed to face him...?

Later, when the subject does come up, (one of the Ravenclaw sixth years talks loudly behind her back, and the Slytherin boy throws a silencing charm at the girl) Evans tries to tell her as gently as he could, that Cedric seems to have a type. He likes them quiet and witty- Cho just isn’t a funny girl- and Chandler has a sort of classical beauty to her.

The last point hurts Cho more than she dares to show.

She isn’t pretty. Grandmother was right- Cho isn’t pretty and now Cedric doesn’t like her because she isn’t pretty.

.................................

Moody’s eye fascinates Harry.

He wonders if he can make such an eye- a third eye, perhaps? Something that can be undetected- like Trelawney’s inner eye, ha.

The tinkering on the time-mirror isn’t progressing as well as he would have liked, and he’s got plenty of time.

Fortune favours the bold, so Harry buys a pair of radiation-blocking lead-plates through owl-order and fixes it on his right arm before heading to Moody’s desk after class.

He plasters on a toothy grin (and feral eyes lusting after knowledge) and asks Moody if he could be allowed a look at the magical eye. Said eye spins first, riveted on him, while the body slowly follows, until the ex-Auror is leaning into Harry’s personal space, mere inches between the electric-blue eye and Harry’s nose.

The latter greedily seizes the chance to study the artefact- had to be a first-class equipment made by a master artificer- and the arithmantic matrices carved into the ivory and its silver socket. Before he knows it, Harry’s automatically taking notes in near-illegible shorthand, and Moody harrumphs.

“Is that enough, laddie?”

“No sir, a little more, s’il vous plaît.”

Moody lets him ogle, after which, he asks about the lead plate on Harry’s sleeve.

“It’s a sign of good faith.” Harry replies, a little uncertainty lacing his voice. “Luna told me that it would keep the, uh... Blibbering Humdingers, was it- away. Luna Lovegood, I mean.” He says the last part with such sincerity, as though he truly wants to let her know that her advice is valued, despite not believing in it fully.

Moody rolls his normal eye.

Harry is a very good liar, and besides, Lovegood was the perfect excuse for situations like this. Harry’s often found sitting with the third-year oddball ever since he hexed a few people in the fourth year Runes class for having stolen her homework. He had also graciously accepted her gift of dirigible-plum earrings, and kept them hooked onto his bag, so it isn’t suspicious if he suddenly decides to wear lead plates on his shoulder through her recommendations.

His plan is a success, having gone under the close scrutiny of Moody’s eye. Well, lead can stop even _radiation,_ so what’s a little magical eye against it?

Within the next two weeks, Harry successfully creates a rudimentary version of the eye. He is presently working on wood, and will use ivory only for the final product. That stuff doesn’t come cheap. Refining the eye is harder than he thought, having to change some of the matrices, as well as combining runes.

Finally, the wooden eye can see through almost anything, and all that remains is to reproduce it in ivory.

Another project on the side is body-modification. It’s related to making a place for the eye on his body without side-effects. Well, conveniently, he’s got a hole in his arm, but it isn’t the best place for an eye. The research involves moving the position of a wound, as well as the function of extension charms on body orifices.

It’s purely by chance Harry finds out that Granger’s looking into the same thing. She seems to be mildly repulsed by Harry’s ideas of expanding the stomach or the mouth (the safer examples) and Harry has his doubts that she’s really working on purses and bags as she claims.

He catches a pheasant in the forest and begins to experiment on the sly again, expanding its organs, trying to store objects in wounds and trying to Legilimise it into assimilating the rudimentary eyes.

They make a terrific research team, Harry taking care of the practical research while Granger immerses herself in theoretical research, voraciously going through every page the Hogwarts Library can offer on the topic.

By mid-November, Granger is working on arithmantically creating an expansion charm, while Harry has successfully expanded the heart of a chameleon. It bursts within moments, of course, having tripled its blood flow rate, and he shifts the focus on creating a working organ by artificial methods. He bounces ideas with Granger about Muggle medical terms like dialysis, by-pass surgery and pacekeepers. The girl is ecstatic, and their discourses are very illuminating.

Before working on the ivory, Harry would like to build a fleshy organ out of the magical eye. The pheasant gets runic inscriptions and matrices carved into its flesh, and by the start of December, Harry has a fleshy magical eye that he can store in his shoulder wound. Unfortunately, until they make significant progress on the expansion charms, he cannot store anything more in it.

Chang catches him reading in the restricted section. “What’s this, body modification?” She asks, thumbing through one of the many tomes he had picked out.

“Yep.” Harry laughs. “Would be nice to grow another two arms, would make my work a lot easier. Or perhaps even another brain.”

Chang stares pointedly at Harry’s arms, of which one happens to be taking notes while the other is copying a matrix diagram. He wasn’t born ambidextrous, but any task worth learning is worth learning with both hands.

“You don’t need another brain, Evans.”

Harry smiles wickedly. “You’re going to tell me it’s dark magic, and that it’s in the restricted section for a reason, aren’t you?”

Chang rolls her eyes. “I’m not a goody-two-shoes Gryff.” It’s a dig at Granger, but Harry chuckles and invites her to sit. He them promptly shows her the better things that body modification can do.

“It could give you eyes in the back of your head so that you’d never again be caught unawares. Look, it could even regrow Moody’s nose and leg.” He points at an illustration of teeth being grown out from empty gums.

“Where do you think Skele-Gro derived its enchantment from? The powdered lime and charcoal can only do so much, the most important step of brewing Skele-Gro involves a combination of conjuring and body-modification charms focused on the bones...”

Chang’s attention is not on the teeth-regrowth spells. It’s fixed on a book on body-modification and the cosmetic industry that Harry had pulled out in his haste to show her that he wasn’t researching dark magic. When she thinks Harry isn’t looking, Chang slips the tome into her bag and heads out.

Once he’s sure the girl has left, Harry puts the books back in their shelves and continues to take notes. He’s delighted, and whistles merrily until Madam Pince makes an appearance and tells him to shut it.

They talk about it often afterwards. Harry makes a show of being pleased by Chang’s sudden interest in his research, and he subtly offers her advice on such magic.

Magic is often not very safe, but sometimes the risks are absolutely worth it, he comments idly, while he’s sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Lovegood, transfiguring Edgecombe’s screech owl into an eagle and back. Behind him, Smith sneers loudly, and another flick of his wand has Smith’s sandwich transformed into a miniature lion, which bites the boy’s face off.

Harry earns himself a detention, as well as another twenty points for the splendid Transfiguration (twenty from Snape (discreetly) and Dumbledore (publicly) each, and minus twenty from McGonagall for unethical use of magic) and he winks at Chang as he heads back to his own house table.

Another subtle nudge is when Harry peruses Nott’s ritual-magic tomes at the Ravenclaw table on Halloween, and wonders aloud on a waning moon ritual that can amplify any spell cast within an hour. It’s explained vaguely enough to Goldstein to be misleading, and loud enough for Chang to overhear.

All this plotting comes to fruition after the new moon, when Chang is noticeably missing for breakfast and lunch. Harry (and Su Li, with some persuasion) joins Edgecombe in the search, until they find the girl collapsed inside a stall in the second-floor girls’ lavatory.

They take her to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey mops up all the blood and gloop off her body, and wait for the verdict.

Cho Chang has performed illegal magic, some kind of sacrificial morph charm that went awry when she refused the sacrifice, and backfired. Her skin is raw, covered in burns and deep scars, and the blast has singed away much of her scalp.

The matron de-scalps the girls head and wraps it in bandages soaked in ointment, and a week later, when Chang hesitantly reappears in the Great Hall, she is unrecognisable.

Su Li had been a strategic placement on Harry’s part, news travels from her to Greengrass and Patil, then to the Gryffindor Patil and her friend Brown, who are nasty gossipmongers, and thus, by the end of the week, there isn’t a single person in Hogwarts who doesn’t know the _tragic tale of Cho Chang, spurned by her beloved, who delved into the Dark Arts for beauty and failed._

People avoid her like the plague. The ones who had been jealous of her in the past now make fun of her openly; crueller still are the jeers and the looks of pitying disgust that people send her way.

Even Edgecombe looks at her in veiled revulsion and pity these days. Chang hides away most of the time, and reluctantly attends classes. Harry catches her crying brokenly in a broom cupboard and comforts her, hugging her tightly and telling her that it’s not the end of the world.

He makes sure they’re discreet, but Dumbledore catches them anyway, and the kindly appreciation on the old coot’s face is just a bonus. Harry radiates smugness when he returns to the Slytherin dorms, and the gleam in his eyes frighten everyone, even Nott.

...............................

Cho tries to avoid Cedric these days.

But it’s a small world, and she bumps into him after Defence, and his pitying gaze sears her like a brand. Before, there had been a chance of him liking her back, but now...? Cho had even quit Quidditch, too ashamed to show herself to people.

Evans is her only true friend. Marietta tries her best, Cho knows this, but Evans is the one to stand proudly beside her.

“Let them talk.” He had said. “They’ve always talked about me, I’m used to it.”

The winter holidays approach, and Cho’s terrified of going back. Her family had been informed of her accident... but they hadn’t seen her. They haven’t seen her yet.

To her surprise, Evans seems to be heading home this year. He finds them an empty compartment, and charms the glasses opaque before letting her lie down on his lap. Cho removes her headscarf- Evans had borrowed one for her from Sherzai, apparently.

He pets her head gently, marvelling at the bristly texture of hair growing out again.

The bright auburn hair frames his childlike face- Evans still hasn’t cracked his voice, and his cheeks are plump with baby-fat he has yet to lose, but Cho knows he’ll look very angular in a few years. There’s fine bone structure underneath- not exactly what most people would define as handsome, but it will suit Harry’s eccentric charm very well. Cho automatically reaches out to poke his nose.

It twitches. It’s cute.

Evans scowls and ties his hair back into a bun. “You look much better with a smile.” He says.

Cho realises it’s true, she’s smiling. She hadn’t thought she’d ever smile again.

“Will you write to me?” She asks.

“I’m staying at the Malfoy Manor.” Evans replies. There isn’t going to be much of a chance to owl. Her face falls, although she wonders how the redhead even secured an invite to the Malfoy Yule Ball.

When the train pulls into Kings’ Cross station, Cho pulls Harry into a tight embrace. She’s shaking, she doesn’t want to face her family- her grandmother is going to tear her apart. Evans seems to realise it, and returns the hug, telling her in his soft, patient tone to stay strong and not to let anyone drag her down.

Marietta pokes her head into the compartment and ruins the moment, but Cho takes one last glance at Evans and almost believes that she can deal with her family.

...................................

Harry steps down triumphantly and heads to the tall pale-blond head he had glimpsed over the sea of people. Draco joins him, still not over his disbelief that Harry has been invited to the Yule Ball.

Lucius Malfoy, surprisingly, had sent him an invitation written in typical Malfoy extravagance- beautiful calligraphy and green ink and expensive parchment with the family insignia- and Harry had accepted, after having cast verifying spells on it with a paranoia that could rival Moody (to be honest, the aforementioned spells were Moody’s usual repertoire, and Harry had to cajole him into sharing the spells.)

Well, it’s something to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He fucking preys on people's insecurities, doesn't he? _Whew..._


	20. Chapter 20

_“Slither, slither, little snake;_

_Tell me when thy master wakes._

_There is poison in my wine-_

_At my table he will dine,_

_In my chambers he will sleep;_

_And come morn’ we all will weep.”_

Lucius looks up from his work. Evan traipses into his office, singing merrily, his voice down to a low, sibilant whisper that reminds him of the Dark Lord. But it is not Parseltongue; the little ditty is intelligible enough to send a chill down the Death Eater’s spine.

“How ominous. Pray, to what do I owe the doubtful pleasure of your visit?”

The redhead smiles darkly and perches on the corner of Lucius’ desk, facing him. “How is thy master, my slippery friend?”

It grates on Lucius’ nerves, and he sneers condescendingly. “That is of no concern to you, is it?”

“I just took care of your biggest problem with the Asiatick Association, Mr Malfoy. The least you could do is humour me.”

A blond eyebrow arches sharply. “What do you mean, Evans?” Lucius looks at the Mudblood.

Pearly teeth grin in Lockhart-esque fashion, but without the blithe idiocy associated with that fraud. “Hmm, wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s obvious that Evans has no intention of telling Lucius this early in the game. “Your son has been rather... boastful, that a certain self-professed lord will be in attendance.”

“Your impudence is boundless.”

Evans grins, twirling the eagle-feather quill in his nimble fingers. Lucius wonders when the boy had stolen it from his hand. “I’m merely intrigued- they say he wears his magic like a mantle.”

Lucius gets what he’s playing at. The Mudblood wants Lucius to present him to the Dark Lord, as a benefactor. It’s a dangerous game, and trying to get Lucius in his debt _again_ will not work. Besides, if Evans’ plan does not work, they will be shamed in front of the Death Eaters.

No, it’s better that Lucius waits to reap.

He nods in sarcastic politeness and gestures to the door. The boy loses his smile and complies.

At least Evans is smart enough to realise when he’s lost.

...............................

_Dear Harry_

_I can call you Harry, right? Somehow, calling you Evans doesn’t feel right when we’ve been friends for so long._

_How’s your holidays?_

_You did say you were at the Malfoy Manor and mightn’t be able to owl back, but I needed to talk to someone. And I don’t think Marietta would understand as much as you do._

_Can you imagine how it’s like in my home, when you’ve grown up listening to how the ‘virtue’ of a daughter is measured by how she looks, how good a marriage-offer she can get in the future? Grandmother has always mourned the fact that I’m a half-blood, that I won’t be as pretty as my cousins, or that I chose to take up Quidditch over my Magical History lessons. And now that I’m like- this- they’ve practically disowned me, I’m not allowed out of my room, because my aunts and uncles keep using this as an opportunity to take my mother down a notch. Mother’s disappointed, and everyone looks at me like I’m repulsive... It hurts so much._

_Father says that it’s alright, that he’ll find some way to fix me, but am I so broken that I need to be fixed?_

_Please, I’m scared. I’m sad, and I’m scared and I don’t know what to do._

_Cho_

_***_

(Letter contains several words scratched out.)

_Harry,_

_They found a healer for me._

_My grandmother and Auntie Kang persuaded Father to seek help, and they’re going to do some reversing ritual. Mother’s cosmetic charms weren’t doing anything, so Auntie Kang has brought a cosmetic Healer from Albania._

_I’m on a diet of nutrition potions and Solving Solutions- they’re supposed to turn my face into putty (I think?) so that the cosmetic Healer can remould it. He said he’d make me beautiful, but I don’t trust him._

_I wish you were here, you always know what to do. I’m the stupid one, ignoring your warnings and getting myself into scrapes._

_Cho_

_***_

(Note splotched by tears, near illegible handwriting.)

_Harry,_

_You told me to be strong, but I can’t. I’m not like you, I’m not brave enough to pretend it doesn’t affect me. I can’t take it anymore- it failed. The ritual failed, that healer was a quack, and I don’t think I can show myself to anyone again._

_I’m not coming back to Hogwarts. I can’t, even if Mama and Baba want me to, I can't. I don’t want you to see me like this._

_I’m so sorry._

_***_

The Yule Ball is every bit as ostentatious as Nott’s stories had made them out to be. Harry stands beside Draco, at the blond’s behest, greeting guests, despite being a guest himself. It’s a chance to make contacts, one that Harry would absolutely not pass up.

There is neither hair nor hide of the Dark Lord, unfortunately, but there are plenty of other big fish in the sea.

The French Minister’s invited, as is Fudge, but while the latter is there to lick Lord Malfoy’s boots, the French Minister is rather loud in his opinions against ‘filthy Death Eaters and dark sympathisers’, and Harry cringes before heading to diffuse the situation. The Minister is known for his interest in vintage Muggle automobiles, and it’ll be a rare opportunity to turn his Muggle upbringing to his benefit.

While Harry doesn’t know much about cars, he knows enough about Muggle technology to impress the Minister (with what pathetic French he can muster, until Nott helpfully turns up to translate.) The man happily babbles away about whitewalls and chrome coloured bodies, until Nott mutters into Harry’s ear that Lord Malfoy has arrived to take over.

Relieved, Harry looks up and gapes.

If there was a way to look obnoxiously swanky and yet pull off the elegance of a swan, Lucius Malfoy had perfected it. He’s swathed in drapes of shimmery grey Acromantula silk, with Puffskein collars and bejewelled clasps. Harry feels rather green in the face, and he doesn’t know if it is due to envy or the need to puke.

With practised ease, Malfoy ignores Harry like a stray leaf on the road, and pulls the Minister away. They chat amiably, heading to the floating table of champagne, and Harry glares daggers at the host’s back.

He meets other people from Slytherin: Greengrass, Parkinson, Montague, Zabini accompanied by his Mediterranean beauty of a mother... Crabbe and Goyle have taken to following Draco as they always do, and Harry strolls with Nott, talking up strangers.

Nott glimpses Snape, and Harry immediately takes cover behind the ballroom drapes, stumbling onto someone as he trips on his own robes. He mutters an apology and hides, eyes trained on the Potions Professor.

Damned Snape! If the man saw Harry here, he would realise that the boy was not safely curled up in the Slytherin common room like he’d told his mother, but prancing about in a Pureblood event.

Harry had _not_ told his mother about the ball.

He had pretended to stay back in the castle and then stolen into the Hogwarts Express along with the other students, easy in his knowledge that Snape would be going back to Spinners’ End to work on the Wolfsbane with his mother.

What he had forgotten was that Snape was Malfoy’s close friend, and that he’d surely be an honoured guest. He’s moving to disillusion himself, when a hand stops him.

It’s a middle-aged man, rather wealthy and haughty-looking despite lacking the sheer pure-blood arrogance that rolled off the likes of Malfoy and Greengrass. Harry wonders to himself if everyone at the Malfoy ball wore Acromantula silk robes, but then corrects that thought- Signora Zabini is kitted out in a sultry dragon-hide dress, cut scandalously low at the back to expose her fine figure and sun-kissed olive skin.

The man chuckles at his train of thoughts, and Harry flushes. He had probably said it out loud- how odd.

“Yes, Signora Zabini cuts a very appreciable figure, doesn’t she? Macnair and Rookwood over there haven’t been able to keep their eyes on anything else for long.”

Harry looks- and sure enough, there’s a seedy-looking man staring lecherously at her bosom.

“Although,” the man adds, smirking into his goblet, “if the lady’s to have her way, Rookwood will be wrapped around her little finger by the time this ball ends, and Signora Zabini will be newly widowed and ready to move on.”

Harry blinks. “So it’s true? Her reputation as the Black Widow-” he pauses, eyes lingering on the man before him. “If so, then how come she hasn’t snatched you yet?” he asks. The other man chokes on his wine. Harry shrugs; his new friend is wealthy, does not wear a ring and is attractive enough to be a choice suitor to any single woman.

The man’s lips curve into a terribly wicked smile. “Oh, I daresay I know her well enough by now to not fall for her wiles.” Harry grins back- the man is good company, and Harry does not need to sweet-talk or tone down his darker inclinations to get along well with him. It does not take much for Harry to guess that this mysterious man is a Death Eater, one of Malfoy’s more prized ‘friends’.

“... for example, while cursing Snape, I would suggest you go by the Cruciatus- it’s something he doesn’t expect outside of certain, ah, _circumstances._ Just make sure you’re well hidden before you cast it, or you’ll likely find yourself at the wrong end of his wand.” The man quips, popping a bit of skewered veal appetiser into his mouth.

Harry huffs. “I doubt I could get away with that, sir. I’m his student.” He then turned pensive. “Although, a dismantled tripping hex placed on the floor would work, followed by a Disarming Charm.” He takes another sip from his goblet of Elf-made wine, which the adult beside him hadn’t bothered to regulate. Oh, what fun.

“Hmm, that could work.” The man agrees amiably, clinking his crystal goblet against Harry’s.

This is how Lord Malfoy finds Harry, plotting and exchanging spell theory with the man, a little flushed with wine, unaware of the other man’s hand tracing patterns suggestively on his thigh.

Malfoy coughs lightly and announces that dinner is served, and the other man sighs, claps Harry on the shoulder once and departs, while Harry blinks and squints, disoriented.

The patriarch massages his temples before summoning an Elf for a Sobering Draught, and hands it to the boy. He wonders how he should phrase it, and settles for a brief warning to avoid people who were unsuitable for contact with children.

“Why, is he a paedophile?” Evans asks, still a little tipsy while the Sobering Draught works the alcohol out of his system.

Lucius purses his lips- not that he’d heard any such rumours about the wizard, but from the way he had been touching the boy, it was highly probable.

Harry’s seated beside Master Spellcrafter Svelte Sauniere for dinner, and she isn’t impressed by Lockhart’s Ladykiller techniques, so Harry resorts to honesty. He talks about his ideas for splitting spells into their basic parts, to recombine them in various iterations. It’s another application for Arithmancy; there are formulas and diagrams that can compute how well one magic combines with another. That gets Sauniere talking, and she offers correspondence, which Harry eagerly accepts. If he’s lucky, he might get himself into an apprenticeship under Sauniere in the future.

He’s cast a Notice-me-Not charm on himself and relaxes minutely when Snape’s gaze sweeps the room and doesn’t linger on him. It’s a pity that the charm doesn’t keep away the paedophile from earlier, who saunters back and takes Madame Sauniere’s vacated seat beside him after the dinner. Harry throws him a wary look, and is put at ease when Nott comes and takes the seat on his right.

For his part, the man doesn’t do anything more suspicious than to offer Harry wine, which he politely declines. They talk about spell reconstruction some more, and then Nott drags Harry away, claiming to have seen a vampire from the old Transylvanian covens.

There’s no vampire, obviously, but Harry’ close enough to hear Lord Malfoy and his little clique. Apparently, it’s a group of Death Eaters discussing how well their respective missions have been going on. Harry is pleased to hear that one of the men have been tasked with working on genetic manipulation, which meant that his article in Transfigurations Today had not been in vain. The fact that it’s the Dark Lord is just a bonus.

And then, Harry is extremely displeased when Lucius Malfoy boasts that he’s been pulling strings to ensure the incapacitation of Robert Chang, the A.S.A.’s Mudblood chairman, which was why the man couldn’t attend the ball. Apparently, the Dark Lord was very pleased with his mission report.

It’s bollocks, of course. The real reason why Chairman Chang hasn’t attended is because it’s a Solstice night, and their quack healer had insisted that the beautification ritual would be more powerful on the longest night of the year.

Harry wants to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off the blond git’s face, and show him what happens to pawns who overstep their boundaries. He thinks of going into Draco’s room at night and gutting the brat open for his daddy-dear to find; but there’s no point in tormenting Draco for the crime of his father.

Besides, he’d rather not spill magical blood unnecessarily.

Nott takes him to sulk in a corner, cooking up various painful ways to kill Lucius Malfoy, until the ball ends and people start filing out.

.................................

**Author's Note:**

> The Lucius Malfoy/Harry Potter ship discord server is now officially open. Feel free to join and expand the fandom. We need content, people! [Lucius/Harry Discord Server link](https://discord.gg/Kc7fYHwUKR)
> 
> On a side note, I've got a Tomarry Sr. ship Discord server in the works- for the same reasons, that is, expanding the fandom- the link will be posted here when it's up and running.


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